


hey stranger (i want ya to catch me like a cold)

by Mauisse_Flowers



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cassandra Pentaghast's Disgusted Noises, Dream Sex, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Gen, Gratuitous Smut, Idiots in Love, I’ve never written a fic with smut so forgive the overabundant tags i’m covering all bases, Kinky Cullen Rutherford, Miscommunication, Modern Character in Thedas, Modern Girl in Thedas, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Shameless Smut, Tags Are Hard, Temperature Play, Vaginal Sex, Xenon Is A Quasi-God And Loves Soap Operas, but its very minor and not hurtful to the story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:20:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 39
Words: 40,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21702091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mauisse_Flowers/pseuds/Mauisse_Flowers
Summary: Hattie starts having sex dreams on the regular and doesn't think anything of it, especially since they're really damn good for both her and everyone around her. The issue comes when her friends get her into Dragon Age and she realizes she's been dreaming of Cullen Rutherford for near a year.Cue panic and the typical Modern Girl In Thedas story with a slight twist (and three additional Companions).SPORADIC UPDATES, INDEFINITE BCS F**K LIFE
Relationships: Cullen Rutherford/Original Female Character(s), Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford
Comments: 298
Kudos: 403





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The Chaos Group Chat strikes again. I'm not sure if they're best or worst thing to ever happen to me at this point. I used to not like Cullen and now... well... there's this.

Hattie is used to having lucid dreams, but as she’s gotten older she’s remembered less and less of them. Tonight it’s hazy on the edges, like a dream she can’t control but knows is happening.

There’s another person in the dream, with large hands and a hot mouth. This dream figure works their way down her body and Hattie lays back on the bed, letting him, little breathy sighs and moans escaping her as he mouths at her breasts, down her tummy. He strokes her sides with heavily calloused fingers, raising gooseflesh.

His mouth closes at her little nub and she arches off the bed with a startled groan, feeling the prickle of stubble against her thighs, the drag of a scar over her sensitive folds. His hands slip under her backside, keeping her at an angle, the better to _eat_ her with.

He concentrates his tongue on that little bundle of nerves the entire time, swirling and sucking. Two fingers slip into her, pumping slowly and scissoring. She gasps, feeling the rising wave of ecstasy.

Her fingers find the dreamy figure’s hair, soft between her fingers. She rolls into his face, desperate for the friction.

Then he draws away, removing his fingers from her, slipping out from her own. She cannot see his face, only hazy angles and tanned skin. She grabs his face anyway, pulling him to her for a kiss. She licks her way into his mouth, tasting her on his tongue, the roof of his mouth. He kisses back just as fiercely.

She can feel him against her thigh, heavy and thick.

“Fuck me,” she tells him. “ _Please_.”

He nudges her entrance at her words, head running over her slick. She pants, hands sliding through his soft hair, petting him. He rumbles low in his chest, pleased.

He presses into her, slowly, rocking gently out, taking his time in seating himself. He fits to the hilt, stretching her open.

She exhales sharply through her nose, feeling as if she’s being broken open slowly as the figure pulls out then slides back in, keeping a steady, almost maddening pace.

Hattie hooks her ankles under the extremely firm ass of her dreamy partner, thrusting up to meet his. She grinds against him.

“Harder,” she demands, taking fistfuls of his hair and tugging. “I’m not a China doll.”

The tugging seems to get his engine revving. He picks up the pace, slamming into her so hard she felt her toes curl, his tip brushing the entrance of her cervix. She groans, slanting her mouth against his in a half-kiss. The slapping of their skin is obscene, clear as a bell in her dream.

“Fuck _yes_. You’re so good. Jesus.”

He grunts in her ear. She thinks he’s said something but she doesn’t know what, too wrapped up in her own gratification. All she gets from him is sounds of pleasure.

That delightful wave is beginning to rise again. She whimpers, hands slipping out of his hair to claw at his back, trying to get closer, to meld into him.

He ruts into her now, cock pressed as deep into her as able, one hand between so he could circle her clit. His head dips, taking a nipple in his mouth. He nips at the pert bud with his teeth and with a gasp she cums, back bowing, wave of ecstasy crashing over her, sweeping her away.

Hattie wakes with her fingers down her sleep shorts, biting her lip so hard she tasted blood. She pants against her pillow, shaking with the aftershocks of her release.

“Maeve have mercy,” she giggles after her mind has found its footing again. “That was a really good dream.”


	2. Chapter 2

The dreams become a common occurrence, coming nearly every night with some breaks between. Always foggy on the edges, but no less yummy. Typically she finds herself in charge, topping this mysterious dreamy partner.

She’s tried to imagine what he looks like. A young RDJ? Maybe Ewan McGregor? Or even Sebastian Stan? None of them appear to her, but it doesn’t stop her from tasting him, riding him until she shakes apart above him, waking with ruined panties and a breathless laugh.

Her family notices her brighter attitude, and her day to day friends comment on her lack of long boughs of dourness. Even Naomi comments on her unusual streak of happiness.

She becomes friends with two other people on Tumblr and they introduce her to Dragon Age. Eventually they form a group chat. It's mostly chaos, and Dragon Age AUs, and talking about their lives and supporting each other, and she likes them. They’re a highlight of her day, people she looks forward to even more than the sex dreams.

Dragon Age is a bitch to get into thanks to her shitty computer, but she does anyway. The world is interesting, the characters even more so. She starts with Inquisition, a little smitten with the weird Elf apostate Solas that kept her mage elf alive, taking the mountain path despite being urged to go straight. If it was a good RPG, the people she saved in the mountains would later repay her.

“But you don’t get to meet Cullen!” Andi texts in all caps.

“Who?” She responds, confused, flipping over the pancakes she was working on. “Is he a romancible?”

“Yes! And much better than Solas. it’s like a fairytale.” Leah reveals. “Trust me.”

Hattie narrows her eyes at her phone. She couldn’t ask Naomi what she thought, the woman barely farther than her in the game. But already she felt this Cullen was a little oversold. She tended to like the little league romances anyway.

“I’ll do his romance after Solas and Cass.”

Then she finds out Solas is the Dread Wolf. She’s always been a little weak towards villain romances. The idea she could tame a person who did awful things for (perceived) good reasons, make them change their ways. She couldn’t do that in the game, but what about on writing or in her dreams?

And Cassandra is gorgeous, tall and fierce, the kind of woman she became a stuttering, fumbling mess around. A little too religious for her, but nonetheless her type.

Cullen is... pretty. But the turn off is him being a Templar, even if only formerly, and him being the head of the Inquisition’s military. A nice voice, nice eyes, probably buff af arms, but someone she’d actively avoid in real life.

She doesn’t dream of her lover for a few nights after starting Inquisition, which isn’t all that surprising. Sometimes they faded for a few nights. She instead dreams of open fields and wild flowers, dancing under the moon, living in a tiny cottage at the end of a forest road, a few miles from the nearest village, and just being a wild child. They were her favorite dreams, of a life she could have.

She takes a nap before work one day and dreams of him, blond hair and scarred lips. Warm, calloused hands. She’s at the mercy of his tongue, a strange desperation to his movements.

When she’s about to cum, she sees his eyes. A bright amber-brown, and recognizes the crease between his brows, the tan of his skin.

She wakes to a mindblowing orgasm, with an equally angry flush to her skin as she realizes she’s been dreaming of  _ Cullen fucking Rutherford _ for near a year.

How? She’d never even....

“I hate you all,” she declares in the group chat when she wakes, satisfied and grumpy. “Cullen is my sexy dream lover.”

Naomi sends a flurry of delighted exclamation points and laughing emoji before, in all caps, “AMERICA. EXPLAIN” Andi is probably cackling as she sends “ONE OF US” over and over as Hattie, painstakingly, explains the dream.

And then explains the dreams she’s been having for near a year at this point.

“Watch and see this is gonna be all Xenon’s fault,” Andi jokes.

Instead that puts a bit of foreboding in Hattie’s stomach. She brushes it aside, figuring it was her mind finally putting a fitting face to the body. He wasn’t her type, no matter how adorable and romantic her friends claimed him to be.

And besides, dreams were just dreams.


	3. Chapter 3

Hattie continues to dream of her lover wearing Cullen’s face. One night she has him tied to the four bedposts, riding him cowgirl. It’s not her favorite so far, her dream partner can’t seem to cant his hips right enough to make the position worthwhile.

Though it could be the ropes.

So she stops. She’s gotten good at stopping, leaving him wanting, begging for more. It makes her tremble in delight, tells her what she’s been missing by not having any fun in the bedroom.

Hattie eases herself up, unseating herself to untie his ankles from the bottom bedposts. And he  _ whimpers _ .

“Oh, puppy.” She croons, smirking. “Don’t worry. You’ll have your treat soon.”

Because it’s a dream, all she need to do is touch the rope and its gone. She could think it gone but that was less fun.

“If you’re well behaved tonight,” Hattie tells him, crawling up his body, slowly, leisurely, taking the time to kiss scars and pockmarks she finds, to take his head in her mouth for a brief moment and tease him, “I’ll even let you finish.”

She’s spent the last week seeing how far she could push this dream specter without him cumming, but making sure she herself reached her peak. She woke up when she did, and so did her damndest to make it last.

A trembling breath. “I’ll behave.”

She sits up abruptly at his voice, him not having spoken until now, and finds a matching face. She stares at Cullen Rutherford, still a little perturbed she’d dream of him as her bed partner. And also a little viscerally delighted, because so far he had been really pleasing.

“Huh.” She lays across him, making sure her hot center pressed against his cock, but didn’t let him enter. “I don’t think I’ve ever dreamed so vividly of someone, you know. Let alone a character I’m not big on. But I like it.”

She slides back, rubs against him. His heels dig into the bed, pressing up, straining for more. And Hattie, Queen of this Dream Bed, tsk’s, drawing out of his reach, sitting up so she towers over him, settled just above his pelvic bone.

“No, no, puppy. Remember, you behave  _ then _ you get to do as you please.”

Cullen pants underneath her. He looks up at her, eyes dark and hooded by desire, mouth slack. His chest rises and falls quickly. His hands are wrapped around the silk cords keeping his arms bound above his head, muscles sharp and proud against his tanned skin.

“Please.”

He sounds a wreck, a delightful wreck only she gets to see. She smiles sweetly down at him then takes a nipple in her mouth. He bites sharply on a curse word, writhes beneath her as she nibbles and laves at the sensitive bud. She ends with a tug, just a brief and sharp one and he all but cries.

“You’ve been a good puppy tonight, Cullen,” Hattie decides, sitting up. “So I’ll let you play. On one condition.”

“Anything,” he strains against the silk. “Maker’s Breath, anything.”

She grins. “Make me scream your name.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the very first one I wrote and you can tell, I think. Turned out well, considering.


	4. Chapter 4

Cullen paces his office.

She hadn’t known who he was. She has spent weeks, _months_ , torturing him, thinking him a mere dream. And continues to think so, unaware of the truth.

That changes so much.

Cullen knows why the wards do not work, why the sleep drafts are useless. He knows why he wakes, sticky and spent, or worse—close to wonderful release and unable to find it now that the soft, pliant body that brought it was gone, as if he had spent a night at the mercy of an insatiable partner.

The woman on the other end thought their encounters a mere dream, night after night where she had utter control of him. A spell of such magnitude she could not have cast, he was sure of that now. They were not in the Fade, they were in her own mindscape, where her word was law. He needed to look into a way to break it, and discreetly.

The idea is unpleasant. While he would rather control back, the dreams with the nameless woman wasn’t unwanted, especially now that he knew she wasn’t a demon or mage of ill intention. She was warm, giving in her own way, and she was not afraid to take what she wanted of him.

That may be the fact she thought him a dream, but he doubted learning the truth would change that part of her.

Cullen collapses into his chair, hand threading through the locks of his hair. He closes his eyes, tries to imagine the woman—a person whom he doesn’t even know the face of save hazel eyes and a scarlet mouth due to the magic—whether she would agree to end the dreams or let them stay attached. Instead he imagines her leaning over him, hands on his chest. Mischief in her eyes, as she says, “Oh, puppy, you look so tired. Need some help relaxing?”

“Yes,” he breaths.

“Lemme see what I can do.”

She would slide down the chair, kneeling before him in a bastardization of piety. Undo the laces of his breeches lackadaisically, as if already bored of the entire idea, mouth ever curved in that smirk that promised nothing but pleasure.

“You certainly don’t waste time,” she hums, pulling him out to find him semi-hard. And hardening ever further in her hands. “Excited, puppy?”

He swallows past the thick lump of craving, saying, “Yes.”

“So obedient. You’re a good boy.” She praises, the words falling from her lips as easily as rain from the sky. She loved to praise him, to say how good he was. She never seemed to have a mean thing to say, never was disappointed in him. Only happy with him. “Are you my good boy?”

“Yes.” He whimpers, head falling back and eyes closing, thrusting weakly into her fist. There wasn’t enough friction, there never was, as if she was scared to hurt him. At this point, he doubted she could. “Yes.”

She runs her thumb over the bead of precum, spreading it. Then she bows her head, taking his within her scarlet mouth. He thrusts up in surprise, stopped only by her hand pressed firmly to his hip, equally a warning and a plea for him to be careful.

She envelopes him in the damp, warm heat of her mouth, slowly taking him down. He hits the back of her throat, feels the soft wall. He rocks his hips, just a fraction, enough to hear a weak choke. Her hand on his hip curls, but she doesn’t draw away. Instead she takes him deeper, down into her throat.

Cullen is suddenly unsure if he’s imagining this, or if somehow the daydream has taken a life of its own.

She sucks, hollows out her cheeks, and he nearly comes apart. It’s embarrassing. He used to take hours, focused on pleasuring his partner, and now all it took was a daydream of a nameless, faceless woman sucking him down to near undo him.

She bobs her head, fast and wet, runs her tongue along his head, traces the thick vein on the underside of him. He grips the arms of his chair, arching into her mouth. He can see her eyes, bright hazel and wicked. If she could, she’d be grinning, wide and impish.

Then she slows, taking him to the base again, nose pressed to the dark curls there, and ever so slowly pulls off, torturous in her pace. And he, unused to the freedom, doesn’t dare touch her. Her teeth tease the tender flesh of his shaft and he shivers, has to tell himself in an almost intelligible mantra, “Don’t cum, don’t cum, don’t cum.”

She makes sure to have his eye as she swirls her tongue across his head, presses it flat against the slit there, and sucks, hard and deep.

He cums with a cry muffled by his teeth pulling at his lip, jerking into his fist desperately. Warm ropes of cum hit his shirt, soil his pants, cover his hand.

Cullen opens his eyes and the illusion is gone. It is just him, in his office chair, in now soiled clothes.

And he feels entirely far too wretched that he didn’t see the woman’s face when he opened his eyes, that he didn’t get to feel her run her fingers through his hair, to pull her up into his lap and hear whatever murmured praises she held for his ear.

He curses his luck and, on shaky legs, rises to find a clean towel.


	5. Chapter 5

She drags herself into her house after another long third shift and kicks her shoes off, heading to the kitchen for a quick meal and then bed. Maybe a shower in between. Gizmo, upon Hattie pausing to do her I’m Home! Stair Stomp before going to the kitchen, comes rushing down to join her.

“Morning, baby.” Hattie crouches and rubs his ears. “Want some banana?”

She cuts the last banana from the bunch she bought four days ago in half, then slices up Gizmo’s share and puts it in his treat bowl. She stands there, in the early sunlight, eating her half as the tiny mutt gobbles up his share. She drinks some water after and heads up to bed, too tired to actually do much cooking beyond that.

She could shower before work. She always smelled of sweat and sex come evening, anyway.

She brushes her teeth, cleans her face, and crawls into bed. Gizmo, wary of her moving as she slept now, stayed at the head, well out of her way.

But she is exhausted this morning. They had been stupidly slammed the previous night, beer and multiple orders had been stolen, and she and those under her had been yelled at over wait times and the new coffee machines. And usually how she felt in the waking world translated over to her dreams.

She makes sure her alarms are set and, in no time at all, she is asleep.

Like most of her dreams, Cullen is bound to the bed. Tonight she curls up beside him instead of deciding what next to try, throwing an arm across his chest, tucking her face against his side.

“I’m tired,” she sighs. And it’s true. “Work was horrible. We were packed and people stole and screamed and I hate it.”

“I am sorry.” Cullen says.

“You say that because you’re a dream,” she laughs, foot brushing his.

The bindings fade at her touch, and his arms ensconce her. He pulls her into his hold and she melts on top of him, bone tired and glad for the affection that demanded nothing more than simple skin contact. If she could, Hattie thinks she would stay this way forever.

At least all night, if allowed.

“I wish...” Hattie pauses, because for some reason those words feel dangerous, as if speaking to Fae. But he isn’t, just a recurring dream. Either way, she amends her opening words, “I sometimes dreamed, before these became normal, that I didn’t have to work. That I just had my house and pets to take care of, without needing a job to do so. Maybe someone who lived with me and slept beside me. Not sexually, just... just sleeping.”

“That is what you want?” He asks, hand tracing nonsense patterns along the softness of her back, occasionally dragging the pads of his calluses up, up, up to her shoulders and then back down her spine to caress her ass. “To have someone with you?”

“Yeah.” Hattie presses her nose to his shoulder and inhales. He smells of sweat, of hay and leather, and something that is only theirs. “I think my family still half-expects me to get married and have kids though, because I’m ‘only’ twenty-two, and I don’t want the latter so I haven’t pursued the former. I’m content with my life as is.”

In dreams you didn’t sleep, not unless you wanted to end up in a double dream. And double dreams were always nightmares. You sank deeper into your subconscious and what waited there, allowing it to take over because your consciousness couldn’t reach that far, much as it tried. So, as much as she wants to, Hattie doesn’t let herself fall asleep. She learned her lessons on double dreaming years ago.

“Puppy,” she hums, enjoying the way his hand stills on her back, fingers splaying wide. His chest rises with his slow inhale, pressing against her breasts. “You can do as you wish tonight. I’ll sit back and let you play.”

“Are you sure?” He asks, and Hattie does suddenly wish he were real.

“Mhm. Yes.” She kisses his throat. “So long as its not too vigorous. I don’t have the energy right now, awake or otherwise.”

Cullen gently urges her to sit up, lays her back on the bed. In the lamplight of the bedroom, the way it slants across the walls, his eyes appear like amber. A thin ring of it, the rest of his eye is his ink black pupil encased in the hard sap.

He drags his hands along her skin, slow, sensuous, taking what she’s offered to him. His touch is feathery, almost, light so as not to bruise her, but no less insistent. He cups the curves of her hips, running up her ribcage, towards her breasts. His left thumb teases the underside of her breast, as if debating what to do next. She hums placidly, content to let him take his time.

She stretches out on the bed, keeping her arms loosely above her head. Maybe in another dream she’d see about her own self being tied down. What would this dream Cullen do then, given full control of the woman who liked to see him bound three nights out of seven?

Right now, he seems content to taste her skin. The thin skin of her neck over her jugular, the tender curve of flesh where neck and shoulder met, along her collarbone, leaving open mouthed kisses as he trailed down, down, down and took her right breast in his mouth. All the while his left teased her peaked nipple, just a gentle roll under his thumb but no less loving.

She sighs, eyes closing. She curls a hand in her hair, enjoying the feel of his mouth, his tongue on her sensitive flesh. When he is content with his work, with the little mewls he had pulled from her, he continues his journey south. He drags his mouth lower, mapping the softness of her stomach, tracing each stretch mark with his tongue, stubble raising shivers as he traced a path down her skin. Lower, and lower still, stoking the low blaze within her. He gently presses her legs open, mouths at her thighs.

Hattie gasps when he nips her inner thigh, muscle twitching in shock. She goes to open her eyes but Cullen speaks.

“No. Keep your eyes closed.” He presses a kiss to where he had nipped her, soothing the irritation. “It will feel even better than if your eyes were open.”

“Alright, puppy.”

She stays laid back against her pillows, curious to what he would do next. He seemed to be debating, himself, the way he strokes her legs. Hip to knee and back, over and over.

He shifts on the bed, lower by the way the bed’s weight moves. His hands slip under her thighs and lift her easily, depositing her legs over his shoulders.

 _Haven’t tried this position before_ , she thinks. She had sat on his face and rode him to kingdom come, had even tried the ever meme worthy 69 position, but not this.

She swallows, throat feeling infinitely dry, when Cullen kisses the mound of her pubic bone.

His tongue teases her entrance, getting a feel of her. She twitches, unused to being under him and finding it steadily more enjoyable than being above him.

He dips in, tasting, and she jerks at the suddenness. She feels his smirk against her, the drag of his scar across the tender cunt. His hands, previously holding her thighs, shift lower to her ass, for a different grip.

“Puppy,” she whines, breathless, “don’t tease.”

“Fair is fair,” he hums, sending little shocks through her.

He’s right and they both know it. And never let it be said she isn’t fair.

He kisses around her pussy, drags the flat of his tongue from her vulva to her clit, and then sucks her clit into his mouth, flicking at it with his tongue ceaselessly. He repeats the motions once, twice, and she can feel her pleasure rising. She pants, clutching the pillow under her head tight.

Cullen shifts again, so only one hand holds her up, and he slips a finger into her cunt as he sucks her clit into his mouth once more. She groans, pressing back for more friction.

He thrusts slowly, never enough friction, never enough drag along her inner walls. She trembles in his hold, the almost need to beg him for more there but unable to summon the ability to speak beyond broken keens.

When a second finger slips in she nearly sobs. His pace picks up steadily. He scissors her, dragging along her walls in a way that nearly makes her see white. She groans, head tossing back against her pillows.

“C-careful,” she chokes. “If I cum, the dream is over.”

Cullen adds a third finger instead of slowing, quickening. Her toes curl, hips bucking in his grasp. A hard determination is in his eyes, matching the smirk on his face.

“F-fuck. Cullen—!”

“Cum for me.”

She can barely think past the rising haze. He wouldn’t drag it out? 

“Pup-puppy.” She grabs her hair, taking fistfuls. “Fuck, babe, please.”

He teases her clit, breathing gently across it. “Go ahead, vixen. You can do it, love.”

He turns his fingers in her as he envelopes her clit. He sucks hard on her clit and curls his fingers and, with a scream in the dreaming and waking worlds, Hattie shakes apart.

She wakes up with now soaked panties and sheets, a pissed off dog sleeping on the floor, and the sudden feeling these aren’t just wet dreams. Her body tingles with the aftershocks, far too sensitive for a mere dream, even one so vivid.

She pants, trembling in her bed. “Fuck,” she rasps. She covers her eyes. “ _Fuck_.”


	6. Chapter 6

Admittedly, Hattie is a bit taken with this dream lover of hers. Not that she’d ever admit it, to herself or her friends. That was a step too far into a strange co-dependence on her dreams she wasn’t ever going to make. Her feet would stay stuck to the ground, thank you very much.

She’s found he’s fond of going down on her, which Hattie has no reason to complain about. He knows what he’s doing with his tongue, lips, and occasionally the scrape of his teeth, fingers just as present. Personally, she’s found being taken from behind very forthcoming in delight.

Tonight, Hattie has him tied to this sky soft bed with four posts and a gossamer canopy, it’s sheets and pillows an ever changing color. Most nights they’re red, sometimes green, and others blue or pink. She wonders if it coincides with her mood, but has never dwelled long enough to decide.

She kisses across his body, taking her time. There’s all night and Cullen makes the sweetest sounds under her fingers. She wouldn’t call herself an expert, but she definitely knows what strings to pluck to hear him moan.

Calling him “puppy” has the effect of making him listen. She’d jokingly called him one and ever since he’s done as told so long as he’s “puppy.”

She presses her body lengthwise across his, his cock trapped between them. She wraps her hand around his shaft, eyes on his face, as she strokes him, gripping him tight. The little beads of precum she spreads across his head, down his length, picking up speed. And then slowing down as he begins to tense, listening to his breathing speed up, the vein on his underside begins to pulse.

She takes her time in dragging him to completion, breath shallow and ragged, letting his milky sperm coat his stomach, watching his face fall slack with his release. She saw someone younger in that face, less battle hardened, someone she wouldn’t have minded in real life. She crawls up his body to kiss him deeply, seating herself on his still hard member.

He stretches her silken walls, rubs against that special spot near the front.

“You’re beautiful, puppy,” she murmurs, rocking her hips back and forth, making sure he strikes her g-spot. She’d given him his release, now it was her turn. “So pretty for me, laid out like this.”

“Sweet Maker,” he breaths, eyes closed. He sounded so much like Cullen, acted like him. Probably could have spit back what she knew of his backstory word for word if she asked.

“Do you want me to go faster, puppy?”

The thin sheen of sweat on his skin shines in the candlelight of the bedroom. She can see the bob of his adam's apple before he nods, gasping out “yes!”, feel the twitch of his cock within her as she picks up speed, lifting herself up to slam down on him. She swivels her hips a bit, rocking back and forth, chasing her own high. His hips try desperately to meet hers, unable to from how tightly she had him bound.

If she dreamed of him tomorrow, she’d let him do as he pleased with her.

“I want to hear you call for me, puppy,” Hattie purrs, slowing her pace. “What was it you called me last night? ‘Vixen’? I want you to call me that.”

He stutters before managing, “Vixen, please.”

“I’m sorry, puppy. Please what?”

Ragged, he begs, “Vixen, please, give me my release.”

“Hm,” she hums, eyes closing. “I love when you beg, baby.”

She picks up her pace in earnest, leaning forward, hands planted firmly across his chest. She rides him hard, making sure he feels every inch of her as she moves. He is like putty in her hands, a string of bright explicative, straining beneath her.

She leans down close to his ear so he can hear her little pants, the mewls as he drags against her inner walls deliciously. Her stomach presses against the cooling cum on his own, smearing against them. One hand slips from his chest down, circling her clit. “Call for me, puppy.”

She takes the lobe of his ear between her teeth and tugs. He chokes on his breath, hips snapping up into her one, twice, bouncing her from the force, and heat floods her body. She shudders above him, the coil low in her body snapping.

Dulled by her own orgasm, he yells his delightful nickname of her. She collapses on his chest, burying her face in his chest to giggle. He heaves beneath her, and then there is a low rumble in his chest, one of his own chuckling.

“Sometimes,” she says, unthinking as she feels the edges of the dream begin to darken with encroaching wakefulness, “I wish you were real.”

Cullen sucks in a sharp breath and—

She blinks her eyes open to early morning sunlight. Hattie turns her head to see her clock reads 6:47am, three minutes before her alarm goes off. She rolls over to her side, throws the covers off, and gets out of bed on jelly legs.

She feels like she’s missed something important by not finding out what he had to say, and it would bother her for the rest of the day, but oh well.


	7. Chapter 7

“We’re trying something new tonight,” Hattie says, as she snaps her fingers and a bowl of ice appears. “Because I’ve tried this and its heavenly.”

“With who?” Cullen asks, with quite a bit of jealousy, as she reaches across him to grab the ice. She holds an ice cube out for him to take in his mouth.

“Suck. And myself,” Hattie says, as he takes the cube. “Because I am going to be a lonely old maid and am getting my fun in now.”

Cullen gives her a look that says “you won’t be a lonely old maid.” Which sure, she won’t be lonely because she’ll have plenty of dogs and cats and her friends, but it doesn’t change her being _old_.

These dreams have made her a little more lonely than she usually is.

It must show on her face because his expression softens. She tilts her nose up and says, “Don’t drop or bite the ice, puppy. You can only suck on it. If you do either of those two things, you only get to watch.”

He nods. She grins and gets off of where she’s straddled his chest. She grabs another cube.

She kisses one nipple and then presses the ice to it. Cullen’s hands clench in the bindings, but the ice in his mouth doesn’t crack. When a little bead of water has pooled, she begins to drag the ice down the length of his body, down to the v of his hip. His breathing is shallow, measured. She can see the strain of his body, and even better without ever touching his cock he’s started to get hard. She leaves the cube there, balanced precariously, and goes back for another.

So her dream Cullen is definitely into temperature play. Cool.

She repeats the process, but this time she licks up the trail of icy water, her heat a stark contrast. He pants past the cube in his mouth, which is dwindling pretty quickly.

“Puppy,” Hattie sits back on her heels, casually running the cube along his abdomen in little figure eights. She sees the muscles twitch, his hips cant forward. The ice cube at the v falls off and she leaves it to melt on the bed covers. “You’re always so well behaved. You’re always my good boy.”

She pops the cube in her mouth and bites down until she hears a satisfying crunch. She chews it up and swallows. She crawls up his body, careful to avoid his cock. That would come later.

She settles over him, forearms keeping her up, her hair falling around them like a privacy curtain. She smiles.

“I want you to kiss me and pass me the ice cube, okay?”

He nods.

She kisses him, open-mouthed, with tongue. He fumbles, briefly, but then manages to press the cube up, toward her mouth. She takes it, pleased, and sits up. Like the previous one, she eats it. And then kisses him again.

Their mouths are cold and damp, sliding over the other. His tongue feels like a block of ice.

She kisses his neck with her cold lips and he huffs. She hovers again, watching his face. “How are you doing, puppy?”

“I’m fine,” Cullen tilts his head so the tips of their noses brush. She pinks at the touch, pulling away. “Is that all you have planned, vixen?”

Her eyebrows climb up. “Still calling me that?”

“Do you deny being one?”

“Oh, not in the slightest.” Hattie laughs, head tilted back. “Vixen and her puppy. The fox and her hound.”

She grabs another ice cube, pressing it to his collarbone, drawing it across the hot skin. Water pools in the hollow of his throat. He inhales sharply, tries to sit up as she steadily draws the ice across his skin, down between his pectorals. She draws a heart over his, leaving the cube to sit.

“Sweet Maker.” Cullen rasps. “That’s cold.”

She reaches for the ice. “Want me to stop, puppy? We can do something else.”

“No.” Cullen shakes his head. “Please continue.”

“Hm. I have an idea then.” She gives him a cube and takes one for herself. “Keep that in your mouth as long as you can, puppy.”

He takes it obediently, rolling the cube around, watching her intently. She keeps her own between her lips, tracing down his body, tracing each scar and the line of his abs, leaving a shiny trail. She can feel her mouth getting colder, each inhale feeling like the dead of winter in her mouth.

She kneels between his legs, balancing by her hands on his thighs, dragging the ice along his shaft. Cullen moans around the ice in his mouth, cock twitching at the icy cold. She swallows the ice, eating it, and then, grinning, takes him in her mouth.

He curses, back arching off the bed. Hattie fights to not grin, taking him deeper until he hit the back of her throat. She can feel the muscles in his legs straining under her palms, tugging.

Hattie bobs her head, licking along his shaft, racing against the heat returning to her mouth. She hollows out her cheeks to take him deeper, breathing through her nose.

“ _Vixen_ ,” he begs around the ice in his mouth.

She lets go with a pop, mouth too warm to continue. She can taste him in her mouth, salty and bitter. If she could, she’d keep him for ages, seeing how long it would take to unravel him completely. “Eat it,” she orders, crawling up his body. “And then you’re going to eat _me_.”

She doesn’t think she’s seen someone eat anything so fast.

Hattie positions herself above Cullen, knees beside his head. She holds the headboard for better leverage. She can see his eyes, dark amber and bright. His breath hitches in need. She grins down at him.

“You always leave me so satisfied, puppy,” Hattie tells him. “I’ll let you do as you please after this, how does that sound?”

He nods. Her grin widens. “Good boy.”

His tongue is frigid as an icicle when she lowers herself onto his mouth, smooth as it too. He laves against her sensitive folds, bringing fine tremors to her body.

Cullen breaths against her, heightening the cooling sensation. She bows forward as he sucks on her labia, toys with them with that cold tongue of his. She rocks against his face, eager for more of the friction he offered her. The scar on his lip rubs against her folds, seeming to burn the sensitive flesh.

She reminds herself she has to pace herself, otherwise she would cum and wake up. And she had promised Cullen he could do what he liked with her after the chill in his mouth wore off.

Hattie preferred keeping promises, and so far Cullen had proved himself a very good lover in bed when allowed to lead.

As if to prove her point, his nose pressed against her clit, hard and insistent, as he sucks and licks over her opening. She heaves, leaning further on the headboard as her nerves light on fire. He chuckles from under her, eyes bright gold in delight.

His mouth was already warm again, much to her disappointment. Cold didn’t keep as long as she wished it did, even in dreams.

She unseats herself, slowly, ignoring his whimper of protest. Hattie lays flush across his chest, resting her cheek just above his pectoral.

“You’re so good to me, puppy,” Hattie tells him. “So, so good.”

She kisses him, teasing his mouth open. He tastes of her slick, musky and sweet. He licks into her mouth, demanding but kindly so.

As they kiss, she drags her fingers along his arms, up to his wrists. Her fingers brush the red silk and the bindings on his wrists and ankles disappear.

Cullen’s hands delve into her hair, tangling in the short, messy locks. He tilts her head for a better angle, breaks the kiss to bite at her throat. She exhales shakily, gripping his shoulders weakly.

“Get on your knees,” he orders. “And face the headboard. If you want, you can hold it.”

Hattie laughs, giving him an indulgent smile. “Is that an order, puppy?”

“No,” he purrs. “It’s a command. One you should follow if you wish to wake up at all tonight.”

Hattie pauses, looking at him with large eyes. There was a feeling in the back of her mind, but she dismisses it, focuses instead of the way the idea of him ordering her about made her wetter, made her a little eager to please him as he did her.

 _These are just dreams. Very_ **_good_ ** _dreams._

She levers herself up and off of him, already missing the feel of his warm skin against hers. As she goes, he smacks her ass. She jumps, and giggles.

“Ow!” She says, not at all hurt and instead wishing he’d do it again. “Bad dog. First biting, now smacks? I should retrain you.”

“I only bite you, vixen,” he purrs, very close to her.

She can feel him hovering behind her, close enough to touch but not easing into that distance. Then, slowly, he settles his hands over hers, hooks his chin over her shoulder, and presses his hard, firm chest along the length of her back. She can feel his cock nudging her entrance, but not slipping in.

“No more ice, puppy?” She asks, a little curious and just a tad disappointed. She loved it against her breasts, the way it pooled on her skin. She’d even imagined him licking it off of her.

“No,” he huffs, nibbling her neck again. He presses a wet kiss to her cheek, and she fights back a laugh and the urge to wipe the wet away. “I think any more games tonight and I may break.”

“Well, I’m yours,” Hattie tells him.

“Yes,” he agrees, in an oddly soft voice that doesn’t fully match the rest of the conversation. “Yes, you are.”

He slides into her easily with a truly obscene squelch, a clear noise created from a combination of her natural slick and her arousal as the night progressed. He seats himself in her, hips flush to her ass.

Cullen presses his face to her spine, shuddering. She was wet, and tight, and warm. He could feel the soft fluttering of her walls, so sensitive already just from his tongue and lips.

Her voice, low and clear, cut through the haze, “Cullen?”

“Yes?”

“Are you alright?”

Probably not with how he craved her, how he’s become used to waking up in this dream bed, tied down and at the mercy of her. But was he, in this moment, alright?

“Yes.” He pulls out, nearly unseats himself, and thrusts back in, movement quick and concise, the wet squelch mingling with their short, quick breaths. She pulls taunt under him, hands curling against the headboard. She moans beneath him. “Yes, vixen. I’m perfectly alright.”

He sets a fast pace, tilting his hips a little more than necessary when he thrusts in to hear her moan and cry as her little g-spot is stroked. He presses his chest harder against her back, wishing to mold himself to her, to never leave this bed.

She flutters around him quicker now, trembling from his ministrations.

Cullen sucks on the lobe of her ear, toying with the little golden stud there. Hattie cries out softly, pressing back into him. He whispers into her ear, “Where are you from?”

Hattie makes a whimper of confusion. “Earth? Where else?”

He hums, reaching around her body to her clit, circling it fast and applying pressure. She says, “Oh! Oh!”

He grins against her ear.

“Don’t worry about me, vixen.” He croons. “Come for me. Let me hear you scream my name.”

“But I,” she shakes beneath him, “I don’t wanna leave you behind.”

“Don’t worry.” He tongues her ear again, can feel her clench around him. She inhales sharply, body seizing up. “I’m right behind you.”

He thrusts into her, grinding up into her, and finally she comes apart. Her breath leaves her in a scream of his name, one hand clenching on the headboard hard enough to make the wood creak, other blindly reaching back for him, tangling in his hair. She turns her head, catching his mouth in a wild, sloppy kiss.

“I’ll see you tomorrow night,” he groans, “love.”


	8. Chapter 8

She spoons him, nose tucked against his shoulder. His arms are strong, roped with muscle, curling around her body. Their legs are tangled together, her feet pressed to his.

“You do not have a Maker or Andraste?” Cullen asks, mostly curious.

Hattie had found herself too tired after a grueling workshift to be interested in even lazy sex. Cuddles were the only thing she could do.

“Nope. I mean, there is God and the Virgin Mary, whos the mother of God’s son Jesus? But I’m not Christian. Or Jewish, in the case of the Old Testament.” Hattie rubs her cheek against his skin, humming. He was warm, but it felt good unlike when she cuddled other warm people. “I’m Wiccan, so I believe in our older gods. Like, predate earliest mention of God, older gods. A few people have kindly informed me I’m enjoying my trip to Hell, our Void, which I suppose I am.”

His hand resting on her hip flexes. His voice is flat. “Who has said this?”

“Eh, religious coworkers.” Hattie isn’t phased by it anymore. She had lived by the Bible for 15 years before realizing Neo-Paganism and Wiccanism was for her. She knew what was said of those who judged, and she knew to not judge, for only God got that job. “Ones who cherry pick the texts, like how the Canticle of Shartan and a bunch of other Chants were removed from the Chantry chant.”

His hand returns to its lazy travel up and down her side, the rough pads of his fingers dragging against her soft, pale curves. She sighs against his skin, eyes closing.

“You know the Chants?”

“No. But I know bits and pieces of things. I’m a squirrel of knowledge!” She giggles. “I get bits of cool info and hide it away.”

He chuckles, the sound reverberating through his chest into hers. If possible, she melts into him further. Hattie smiles against his skin.

“Should I call you squirrel now instead of vixen?”

“I dunno?” Hattie grins at him, tilts her chin up to meet his gaze. “How often do you want me climbing you and stealing your nuts?”

That startles a guffaw out of him, full-body shaking. He covers his eyes, only his grin uncovered. He’s adorable and she’s utterly smitten.

Her heart beats faster watching him and she’s in serious trouble. These dreams need to stop.

Hattie kisses the underside of his chin, drawing her mouth along the scruffy edge. She says, very seriously, in barely more than a whisper, “These dreams have to stop. I think I’m falling in love and you aren’t even _real_.” 

Cullen quiets above her, his breath stolen from him. He looks down at her with dark eyes. He sounds utterly terrified as he says, equally quietly and seriously, “Never say that.” His hand still on her hip tightens. He drags her up his body, their skin rubbing together deliciously, until he can look into her eyes. “Never say you want these to stop.”

“They’re bordering into unhealthy.” Hattie protests. “They should stop.”

“Should doesn’t mean need,” Cullen argues, lightly kissing her. Once, twice, a third time. The hand on her hip slides down, around her thigh, tugging a little. Freely, she opens her legs, straddling him now. His other hand brushes back her hair from her face, catching in the loose strands at the back of her head, looking intently at her as if trying to gaze past thick fog. “If only I...”

She tilts her head. “What is it?”

Cullen shakes his head, pulls her into a kiss. It is slow, sweet. He licks at her lips, asking for entrance, and she gives it. He tastes her, drinking his fill. She becomes putty in his arms.

When he frees her, panting and flushed above him, Cullen says, “Nothing you can fix, love.”

She frowns at him. “It’s my dream. I can fix whatever’s wrong.”

“Not this.” Cullen draws her down for another brief kiss, both hands moving to cup her ass. She exhales shakily against his mouth. “It’s alright.”

He squeezes her ass. She shivers. She was still tired, but his moves were slow, calculated, and she found herself becoming wetter. His dominant hand nestles itself within her curls, teasing her folds. His thumb circles her clit.

“Please, Cullen...”

Hattie rocks into his hand, eager for the friction. She bows over him, hands curling over his shoulders as he works his fingers into her, that thumb of his circling ever tighter. She whimpers when four of his fingers enter her, knuckle deep, stretching her more than even his cock.

She shakes. He thrusts slowly, letting her adjust, crooning little “just like that”s and “grind down harder.” She does as he instructs, fucking herself on his hand. She can’t muster up the energy to move faster and he doesn’t tell her to, content with the pace she sets.

Her breath begins to shorten, a steel ball begins to grow as she works herself over. Her thighs quiver with her impending release. “Cullen,” she rasps, one hand lifting from his shoulders to cup his cheek. Eyes dark as sin, watching every move she makes, a hum escapes his throat, eyes never off her face. “Cullen. Ah. Please.”

“Yes, love?”

The endearment makes her heart ache. She really had to stop these dreams. Her feet belonged on the ground. But… but she wanted this. On one condition, one she hoped her subconscious would deny.

“Cullen,” she presses her forehead to his, “puppy, baby,” she had to say this before she woke, “I don’t know where my dreams conjures you from, but never take lyrium again. Please. I don’t like what happens to you. I want you safe. I want you alive, even if in only my dreams.”

Cullen’s thumb and fingers still. It’s maddening, about drives her absolutely bonkers when he withdraws his hand from her. She keens, “Wait—!” But he is lifting her, tossing her onto the bed.

He kneels on the bed, grasps her hips and drags her across the bed to him, wraps her legs around his hips, and sinks into her cunt. Hattie arches off the bed in shock, him diving deeper her than she expected.

He pistons into her, setting a fast, grueling pace. He strikes her sweet spot at the angle he has, drags across her walls. Each thrust wrings a cry from her. The best she can do is hold onto him, but even that doesn’t seem enough.

He begins slow, swiveling his hips to draw a throaty groan from her, making her almost sob, to shift the angle, leaning over onto one hand as his other scoops under her back. He draws her up to him, sitting back up so she’s sitting in his lap, speared. She is pressed against him, able to feel his frantically beating heart, how real it seems. Then he begins to grind, rutting into her, much slower. He takes one of her hands, threads their fingers together, and she thinks for a wild moment he may never let go of her. He kisses the back of her hand, face tender and somehow infinitely serious.

“Jesus _christ_ ,” she sobs, nails digging into his back when he touches her clit, the bundle of nerves sensitive to the touch thanks to him. “Áine have mercy.”

Cullen kisses along her jaw, wet and open mouthed. His teeth scrape the little tender area under her ear before he speaks, sounding as she feels: absolutely wrecked. “I will never take lyrium again,” he swears, “not so long as you live.”

He presses down on her clit, rutting harder against her, striking her sweet spot. “Cum,” he orders.

“Fuck,” she chokes. “Cullen, I don’t know if—”

He licks up the side of her neck as she’s done in the past to him, returning to bite her shoulder hard enough to sting and _sucks_.

Hattie falls apart screaming his name, thrashing in his hold. Her walls contract, spasming around him, wringing his own orgasm from him. He roars her name, head thrown back, so deep within her she can feel him in her throat. His hot seed paints her inner walls, telling her who she belongs to.

Her sheets, mattress pad, and clothes are ruined when she wakes, and she even worries about the bed itself.

She lays there, breathless, tingling and spasming from the aftershocks for what feels like ages before the pain on her shoulder registers. When she has her legs back and can get up, she strips herself and the bed to be cleaned. Hattie goes to the bathroom to clean herself up and get some control back in her life.

She finds, steadily darkening and ringed by teeth, a hickey. Then she takes a washcloth between her legs and she finds not just her clear essence, but sperm too.

Her stomach drops out her ass.

“Oh shit.”


	9. Chapter 9

Hattie makes sure her dress and tights are in order, and her pretty brown boots too. She fixes her hair and makeup, taps her lipstick to make sure its dry, checked the concealer on her hickey, and heads for the door. She grabs her purse on the way, tucking her phone and charger next to her wallet and copy of The Last Wish.

She had begged Keidra, Amber, and Julia to hang out with her today. After waking to those _very_ telling signs her dreams had never been just dreams, she had panicked. And sobbed a whole lot. And called herself a dumbass for not thinking it weird she had a reoccurring sex dream that got more detailed over time _for a year_.

She wasn’t going to be the star-crossed lover of someone in a completely other universe, them connected only by dreams. It wasn’t fair to him and sure as shit not fair to her.

Her fingers itch with the need to text the Chaos Chat, but she isn’t sure how to explain without sounding insane. Other than the hickey, she has no proof. She could ask him questions, get answers to things she doesn’t know, but wiki existed.

So she keeps her mouth shut, telling them instead how she was going out with some friends for the evening and would text later. She shuts off her phone and gets in her car.

Hattie was going to Amber’s and from there, the two were going to meet up with Keidra and Julia at an Indian restaurant. It would clear her head and Hattie was glad of it. She needed out of her house and needed some girl time.

Then they’d go to McCallisters and get drunk. She needed a drink, and only ever had the excuse for one when with friends.

Hattie turns onto Amber’s street and nods to herself.

“Yep. I’ll get so drunk I don’t dream.”


	10. Chapter 10

Hattie swims into waking, back and neck aching. She blinks at a dark ceiling, illuminated by sconces interspersed along the walls. Way off in the distance she can hear the susurrus of people talking, like when she used to go to church and the service had yet to start or before the lights lowered at the ballet.

“What the fuck.” She grumbles upon sitting up, and finding she’s still in the dress and tights she wore out with her friends, but also wearing a pretty badass looking cloak and her tights were made of leather. Her boots had lost their heels, but looked no less badass. “What kind of dream...?”

She must have passed out on the couch upon getting home, too drunk to give a fuck. And her back hurt because she was laying funny again. Probably had her arm under her side. Again. Better than facing Cullen with the knowledge she’s been fucking a real person for a year in her dreams.

She stands, using the wall as leverage. She follows the noise, curious, but then hears a cry. She pauses, curiosity turning to worry. She follows the cry, a plea for help. One that sounds suspiciously familiar.

“Someone help me! Please!”

 _Am I dreaming... the Conclave explosion?_ Hattie pauses at this revelation. _But... I haven’t even gotten far enough for my Quiz to get her memories back..._

She follows the cries to a room, the doors ajar. She throws them open to find the room full of Gray Wardens, Corypheus stood across the room with Divine Justinia held up at his mercy, his arm outstretched with the Foci.

“The fuck are you doing?!” She shouts, more out of shock than anything. Red lyrium has a _smell_ , like someone had taken tar and mixed sugar into it. That was never talked about in the game, though it could also be the people. It makes her lips pull in a snarl. “Let her go!”

The next few seconds happen in a flash. Divine Justinia smacks the Foci out of the creature’s hand, it sails across the room, hits the wall, and bounces back. Hattie runs, reaching out for it as Corypheus gives an enraged scream. He charges at her, also reaching for the Foci. Her left hand connects first and a blinding, searing pain shoots through her along with panic.

“Shit!” She gasps, buckling from the pain. “This isn’t a dream!”

A high pitched whistle came from the Foci as the pain spread from her hand, shooting up her arm, tracing a path through her veins. Even through the leather of her badass cloak’s sleeves, she can see sickly green energy shining through. And then, with a deafening crack-boom, with her and the Foci as the eye of the storm, everyone is flung across the room. Wardens strike the walls, either out cold, dead, or too dazed to continue.

Hattie drops the Foci, shaking from the pain. Divine Justinia is quick to her feet compared to Hattie, hauling her up and dragging her out into the corridor. Corypheus rises soon after.

“KILL HER!” He screams, as she briefly thinks of going back for the Foci. “KILL THE INTRUDER!”

“We have no time!” Divine Justinia says when Hattie begins to droop from the pain again. “We must flee!”

Hattie follows after, all but dragged along by the much older and somehow much more spry woman. Down corridors and through rooms. And the entire time she can hear the skittering of giant needle-like legs, the chittering of pinchers.

Hattie had never been scared of spiders. Her father used to bring dead ones home from across the sea, some as big as her head, others with a body as small as a pearl bead and legs thin as a silk strand. She thought them as fascinating as the butterflies and beetles and moths. But now, knowing that what followed them was fearlings and not spiders, she understood why some didn’t think their fear of spiders irrational. If one touched her, Hattie may just kill herself now instead of deal with whatever it’s nasty bite had in store for her.

Divine Justinia drags her up a mountain of stairs, pushes her to go ahead. They are steep, crumbling, and Hattie doesn’t know when the Temple had become a ruin, or surrounded by the familiar sickly green filtering through her hand.

But she climbs. Dagda protect her and Ogma give her strength, she climbs the stairs to the top, dragging herself across the ground. Just ahead of her, only two meters or so, is a swirling green rift into the Fade. It is a perfect ovular shape, as if a mirror. She climbs onto her feet, staring into it, and Divine Justinia is there, pushing her insistently toward the rift.

“Go.” Divine Justinia says. “You must _go_!”

“Come with me!” Hattie begs, grasping the woman’s hand. “He’ll kill you!”

The elderly woman’s face of determination falters a fraction. Hattie’s heart sinks.

The Temple was in ruins because Corypheus had succeeded. He had killed Divine Justinia. The blast had sent her into the Fade, with parts of the Temple. That portal led _out of_ the Fade. This was... a memory? A spirit? The woman’s ghost?

“Go.” Divine Justinia orders gently. “Warn them.”

The creeping black legs of the first fearling creeps over the edge and she is shoved by Divine Justinia, all but thrown into the rift. She stumbles onto the ground, exhaustion settling in. But she turns, focuses on the rift, and yanks at the edges. It crackles, snaps, a wild dog fighting back, and the rift closes in on itself.

Hattie stumbles a few more feet, sees the blurry outline of approaching soldiers, and collapses to her knees. Her upper body sways and falls forward.

Before her face even hits the ground, her mind had gone dark.


	11. Chapter 11

Her back _really_ hurts when she wakes up, laid out on her side. She blinks awake, staring into a dimly lit dungeon. She shuffles into a sitting position as a guard exits.

Her mind is foggy, but she remembers everything. She thinks. She remembers the Foci, and running, and remembers Divine Justinia. Tears hit the backs of her eyes and even before Cassandra has thrown open the door, she’s hunched over, sobbing. Her hands press against her eyes, wailing.

Cassandra pulls up short at Hattie’s sobbing, conflict growing fast. Hattie shakes in her manacles, gasping between hiccups, “All those people are dead!”

“You are... broken about this?”

“Wouldn’t you?” Hattie demands, finding it hard to get herself under control. “There was, was someone calling for help. I went to look and then.” She breaks again, pulling her knees up. “Then an explosion of green. And pain.”

She flexes her left hand, already mourning it. “Why?” _Why did you think Corypheus a good idea, Solas?_

“That is what we intend to find out.” Cassandra tells her, and turns to Leliana, who stands on the edge of the shadows, beautiful and watching her like a hawk for inconsistencies. “Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I shall bring the prisoner.”

Leliana nods, exiting.

Cassandra kneels before Hattie, binding her wrists in rope before undoing the metal shackles. The Mark flares and Hattie flinches from it.

“It hurts,” Hattie moans. “It hurts so much.”

Cassandra’s briefly stony face crumbles as more tears slip from Hattie’s eyes. The younger woman sniffles, wishing she could hug someone until the pain stopped.

“Come,” Cassandra urges, helping Hattie to her feet. “I will show you the Breach.”

Oh god. She didn’t want to see it. She already knew it would be bad. But she follows Cassandra up from the Chantry dungeons, feet dragging. Hattie follows Cassandra and feels like her entire world has fallen apart.

The dawn light is hazy from the overcast sky, washed vaguely in green. She looks up at the Breach, an open sore in the sky, pulsing erratically. And, just like in the game, as the Breach spasms above and expands, so too does the anchor her hand. She yells, legs giving up, grabbing at her wrist as agony flairs.

Cassandra barely catches her in time. Hattie sags in the Seeker’s arms, trembling. She doesn’t know how the game Inquisitor could stand the pain. It was like being stabbed by hair thin needles constantly, and then when the Breach expands as though a rusty blade was driven straight through. She looks Cassandra in the eye, begging, “Cut it off, please.”

Cassandra, perturbed, says, “I do not think removing it will stop it. Each time the Breach expands, so too does the Mark on your hand.”

“We can still try.” Hattie was willing to lose her left hand if it meant the pain would stop. Hattie bows her head, curling her hands and pressing her fists to her eyes, repeating, “We can still try.”

“We have... someone in the valley,” Cassandra says. “Who knows much on the Fade. He stopped the Mark from spreading faster. He may know a way to stop it all together.”

 _Solas_ , she thinks, and verily hates him for his dumbass choice in Foci unlocker. She could have done a better job and isn’t even a mage or evil!

“Okay.” Hattie shudders as the Mark sputters, just a tiny hiccough. “Okay.”

Cassandra makes sure her feet are steady, keeping a hand on her elbow, and they walk. The villagers watch them, equal turns glaring and spitting in Hattie’s direction as the two make their way up Haven’s path. She acutely can feel their scorn, even if it’s not her fault. She had stopped a worse fate from falling on them.

She doesn’t hear Cassandra over the buzzing in her ears, the ache growing in her left shoulder. She allows herself to be led, a lamb to slaughter, and when they reach the gate she draws herself back in.

“I cannot promise you freedom,” Cassandra says, more upset sounding than she had in the game, “but I can promise a trial.”

“Okay.” Hattie looks at her hands. Cassandra takes her right gently in her gloved fingers, removes a dagger, and cuts the rope bindings. “Better than an outright hanging, right? I can vouch for my innocence, even if already condemned.”

“Yes...”

Cassandra orders the gate opened, letting Hattie trail behind her. Hattie follows dutifully, right hand pressing her thumb into the pulsing vein of her left wrist. It relived some of the pain, but not much. What little she could remove was worth it, however.


	12. Chapter 12

She’s a mage.

It comes as a shock. 

The bridge explodes with the impact of the boulder, sending Cassandra and her over the side and onto the frozen lake below. Her head aches, a hot, wet line of blood sticking to the side of her head from where she’d struck something stronger than ice. A stone from the bridge, probably.

A demon is creeping towards her and she looks around for something, anything, and sees an unsheathed sword. She grabs it, turning and swiping wildly at the demon. It rears back out of her reach, allowing Hattie to stand. She holds the sword in both hands, snarling at the demon.

“Don’t touch me!” She spits, swiping again. “Don’t you fucking dare!”

There’s a low  _ whoosh _ sound, her hands feel like they do when held near the comfort of a campfire, and suddenly the blade of the sword is on fire, straight out of a fucking comic about angels and demons. She shrieks, nearly dropping the sword, “What the fuck!?”

The demon hisses, shrinking away at the sudden flames. Hattie advances, throwing her whole body at it with an angry yell. She kills it in two swings, one leaving a deep gouge across the chest and another taking the demon’s head clean off.

Then what she’s done registers and her hands release the sword. It hits the ice, hissing and raising steam as the flames flicker and sputter before finally dying, disconnected from her and her magic.

She looks at her hands, not hearing whatever Cassandra has to say.

“What’s happening to me?” Hattie asks, looking up at Cassandra.

The Seeker looks conflicted. “You did not have magic before?”

“No.” Hattie frowns, knowing she doesn’t feel as bad as she should but still upset she’s killed something. “I’ve never killed before either. I don’t like it.”

Cassandra comes closer, picking up the sword from its indent in the ice. Water drips from the handle and blade. She holds the hilt out to Hattie. “There will be more demons as we advance. I cannot expect myself to protect you and myself.” She pauses, as if hesitating, and adds, “They are not alive as we are. You have not killed them.”

“The demon still no longer exists.” Hattie responds, not liking the hollowness of her voice but unable to do much about it. It was she either disconnected emotionally or have a complete mental breakdown. “Meaning I killed it.”

Cassandra has nothing she can say to that. Instead she says, “I am starting to believe you are as caught up in this as the rest of us. I shall endeavor to help prove your innocence.”

_ You won’t need to. The Fade will do that. _

Hattie nods, taking the sword in shaking fingers. The blade gleams, some rainbow-shaded discoloration from the flames in places. She turns to dig through the rubble for a sheath, attaching it to the belt around her cloak.

She feels odd in the garments. Fake. A poor imitation of what she was.

She follows Cassandra, having nowhere else to go.


	13. Chapter 13

She’s so caught up in shanking the demon, in keeping herself alive, Hattie doesn’t notice Solas advancing on her. As the demon dies with a wail, he grabs her wrist, pulling her towards the rift.

Unprepared for the flow of power, the Mark opens up and begins to fight the rift, pulling it and forcing it smaller and smaller. Hattie’s breath is stolen from her, the pain so acute, branching out across her entire body, that she goes limp.

The rift closes and she collapses without Solas to hold her up. Solas, shocked by her reaction, stares. She clutches at her hand, heaving in big lungfuls of breath.

He crouches, and she flinches back, an injured animal. Her hindbrain tells her to bite him, make him fuck off so she can hurt in peace until it passes. But her thousands of years of evolution to this point brain tells her to calm the fuck down and offer her hand to him.

She does the latter after an internal struggle.

He is gentle, messaging around the glowing tear in her hand. It eases the tension building in the tendons and bones, but not the pain. Hattie cannot stop the tears from falling, breaking apart at the seams. She meets his eyes.

“I don’t want this,” she whispers, barely breathing the words. “Please take it back.”

Solas falters in his ministrations, shock crackling through his eyes like lightning. His thumbs press into the softness between her knuckles, insistent and almost painful.

Hattie isn’t sure if it’s a promise or warning.

She doesn’t care.


	14. Chapter 14

Hattie chooses the mountain path after getting into a spat with Roderick. She hadn’t intended to, but the minute he’d called Cassandra a thug—

Her temper has always danced on a knife’s edge, one she’s learned to balance better over the years. But today is a shitty day, and she’s in for a shitty Rest Of Her Life, so finds the knife tipping, flying off into the floor and her off the handle.

”You don’t care about these people. You only care about putting on a show, on getting your revenge. Like a child who’s toys have broken.” She says, fury quiet. “Take me to Val Royeaux and hang me. I don’t care because I know my own innocence. But do so _after_ we’ve gotten the soldiers in the mountain pass to safety and after we’ve secured the Temple, you oversized toddler.”

Roderick stares at her, pale with shock, twin spots of red on his cheeks from his own fury. Everyone is staring at her, as if she has two heads. She doesn’t care.

She looks at Cassandra, Varric, and Solas when no one speaks. “Are we going or not?”

Cassandra clears her throat. “Yes. Yes we are.”

She nods. “Good. I hate politics. It makes me itch.”

The climb up the ladders is a pain and she is slower than she’d have liked and it reminds her she should have worked on her upper body strength more growing up. It doesn’t help the cold causes her asthma to flare, a painful bind squeezing around her lungs, making her pause in her climbing lest she start coughing and fall to her death. Cassandra stays close to her, attached to the strange young woman.

When they finally reach the top, the inside of the mountain steals her breath.

“Beautiful...”

She stops at the entrance, the way the green sunlight slants through, bouncing off ice built up over hundreds of years. Her breath fogs before her, curling up and away. If she weren’t in the badass cloak, she’d likely be shivering.

She follows Cassandra, Varric behind her and Solas bringing up the rear. The place is gorgeous and she’d love to explore at a later date, but right now...

There are more wraiths to fight, to kill, and she focuses on that. The sword easily lights up under her fingers and she uses that to her advantage in the fights, having no form to follow and unsure of how to use Thedosian magic beyond making her sword burst into flame.

A wraith appears, moving to attack Solas from behind. She shouts, “Solas, duck!”

The ancient elvhen man does so immediately, side-stepping the demon’s attack and hitting it with icy magic. 

She realizes right after there was never any introductions, and Varric has only ever called Solas “Chuckles” today. Her breakdown impeded any introductions, and the Breach growing and the need to reach the forward camp stopped them from any other pleasantries.

She feels their eyes on her again, that feeling she is slowly being singled out as Other. Other than them, other than human, other than normal.

Hattie cuts down her fair share of demons in the next half hour, nervous to be asked questions. She just wanted this over. She wanted to be at home, in bed, maybe after a nice dream with—

Her steps stop, staring at the looming exit blankly.

_Oh._

Was this the Cullen she knew? Or one who’d never known her or her body?

She should have taken the direct route. They’d have met and—

And what?

Cullen would sweep her up in his arms and kiss her senseless? She was branded a criminal, and in just a little while be rebranded the second-coming of fucking Andraste. She was now a mage and, for all she knew because she knew very little, he’d suddenly be wary of her. To top it off, there was the high probability this isn’t the Cullen she knows, because with her luck Xenon wanted to fuck with her life _just that much_.

It was easier to just... wait for confirmation. Save whatever heartache she felt now for something bigger, like her lost life.

And besides, the soldiers in the mountain needed her more than she needed any validation.

She jerks forward.

“The soldiers!” She shouts, running past Cassandra who had been asking her something, taking the stairs two at a time, bursting into sunlight. So high up, they were above the clouds, just a few miles below the Breach.

Ahead of her, the soldiers are fighting a losing battle against the demons pouring out from their rift.

“Wait up, kid!” Varric calls over Cassandra’s worried shout after her.

Solas keeps up well as she goes flying at the nearest demon from behind, giving a wildly arcing swing at it. It shrieks, turning on her, and Solas blasts it back with ice magic. She runs her sword through its middle and, gritting her teeth, forces the sword upwards. It dies with a screeching wail, reaching for her.

The two tackle another, saving a wounded soldier from a grizzly end.

“The rift!” Solas calls. “You have to close it!”

She tries, ready for the pain unlike the first time, better prepared than the second or third, but its been open so long that not only does it snap, it _bites_. She breaks the connection in shock, stumbling back.

Cassandra has moved closer to Hattie, allowing Solas to fall back into his support position. The Seeker reaches out, steadies her with a hand on the younger woman’s shoulder.

“Do not let it see your fear,” she advises.

“I’m not scared of a tear,” Hattie responds, right as the strange bony demons appear. “I sew clothes for fun.”

The one closest to them roars in their faces, swiping one wide claw in their direction. Cassandra in one move yanks Hattie behind her and raises her shield. They slide back a few inches at the attack’s impact.

Cassandra lowers her shield and yells back at it in a taunt. She runs at the demon, shield and sword raised.

The tide turns back toward them, the soldiers helping quickly dispatch the last two demons and Hattie closes the rift. It fights her tooth and nail, but with a low wail is pulled closed.

She heaves for breath, feeling drained as if she’s just come off a 10 and a half hour shift at work. She struggles to even her breathing, to keep away from the encroaching asthma attack. Hattie leans, pressing the tip of the sword into the ground to catch her breath.

“You know my name.”

Hattie startles, looking at Solas. Her hands tighten on the sword hilt reflexively. Then she nods. Breathing heavy breaths, she manages. “Yes. And Varric’s. And Cassandra’s.”

“Sorry to say,” and Varric joins the conversation, equally curious but much less guarded, “but I don’t think we got around to introducing ourselves, Sage. No one mentioned this mountain pass either. You just knew.”

_Sage._

Varric has already made up his mind. Solas may have as well, given she’s already revealed to know he’s Fen’Harel. Hattie hadn’t meant to, but the pain in her hand... she wasn’t meant to have it. And it knew that, better than anyone.

“I, uhm,” Hattie can’t find anything to say. What else was there to say? Reveal she came from another world and be written off as crazy, or let these people think her a seer?

There wasn’t much contest.

“The Maker did something to you,” Cassandra joins them. She is still all hard edges, but there is softness in her eyes that speaks of care. She had sworn to clear Hattie’s name and she would. “He gave you a gift.”

“I don’t believe in the Maker.” Hattie won’t let that rumor start, even if Cassandra disapproves her so ruthlessly denying the god she is devoted to. “It was the Fade. The, the explosion must have... I don’t know. Awakened latent abilities?”

“And has allowed you to see and know things others do not,” Solas summarizes.

Hattie nods. Solas eases at this, leaning on his staff. He still watches her with inquisitive scrutiny, likely wondering just how much she knew about his Foci and how it fell into Corypheus’s hand.

“Curious. I have never heard of such powers.” Solas sounds nearly eager now, her a new thing to study. “Maybe they will grow stronger in time?”

“Can we,” Hattie stutters, “can we focus on the Breach? If we don’t, it’ll consume the world.”

“Yes.” Cassandra agrees, back to business. “We will reach the Temple soon.”

As they head on, Varric slows to walk with her.

“What’s your name?” He asks. “You know ours, but we don’t know yours.”

Touched, she says, “Hattie. Hattie Flowers.”


	15. Chapter 15

Hearing her voice echoed back is strange. She knows its her but there's a weird disconnect in hearing the playback. Even more weird is _seeing_ herself.

Divine Justinia calling for help, and Hattie quite eloquently shouting, “The fuck are you doing? LET HER GO!”

Cassandra doesn’t lose her shit when she hears Hattie join the conversation. She is calmer, but no less fervent.

“The Most Holy called out to you!” Cassandra says. “You helped her!”

“Yes.” Hattie says, eyes on the giant, unstable rift. “But I didn’t save her. I wanted to, but... they were stronger.”

“Who is ‘they’?”

Hattie could say. She _should_ say. But... too much information could mess up the timeline. She had to keep that in mind, even if she couldn’t shut her damn mouth. They needed time to grow their numbers, to amass hope and faith and _help_. She needed to gather her allies.

“I don’t know.” Hattie shakes her head. “Someone— some _thing_ evil. I’d just as soon never see it again.”

Cassandra’s hopeful look falls. Hattie feels absolutely wretched, but they needed time. 

They needed time to prepare, to grow their numbers and rally supplies and troops, and she had to give it to them. Even if she didn’t want to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I’m almost through the backlog and this should be the last of the short chapters I have. I’m gonna start updating once a week on Monday to try and keep ahead.
> 
> Writing Porn Without Plot is easy, Porn With Plot not so much.


	16. Chapter 16

Her mind cannot decide where it wants to be when asleep. One night she is in the Fade, running, running, running from Solas, knowing that when he catches her all her secrets are forfeit. She knows he is Fen’Harel and he will have what else she knows, even if it means threatening to break her.

Then her time stretches out, she starts off in her own dream state, free to do as she pleases. She dreams of her cottage, dreams of Cullen and Gizmo being with her. It feels to last years, decades even, as dreams are wont to do at times, while not lasting more than a handful of minutes. It crumbles halfway through, breaking apart around her like liquid wax spread over a hard surface and shattered.

Solas is there, large and black, edges drifting away as though loosened soot, six red eyes vivid as the last embers of a dying fire. He does not chase her, instead looks infinitely tired, curled up and watching her. She cannot help but reach out, pressing her hand against his snout. “There are other ways to help your People, Solas.”

Later, Adan will tell her how she startled in her sleep, and muttered very distinctly and with much disgust about “dog slobber.”

She falls back under and suffers for it.

She is in constant pain even in sleep, feverish and unable to rest, the pain lessening when she touched Solas and muted by her dreams. But with Cullen the pain is excruciating. He tries to hold her, to sooth her, and she can only sob, demanding space, afraid him touching her would make her snap and snarl. She curls in a ball, begging any manner of god that would listen to make it stop, make it stop, please God, Dagda, Maker, Frigga, Osiris, _anyone_ make the pain stop.

He is terrified for her, and rightly so. All she can do is shake and moan and cry in pain. Her entire body feels like a nerve lit aflame, left to burn until it smoldered and nothing remained but a twitching, desecrated husk. And he is stuck watching her, pale and stricken with fright.

She wakes to a familiar face holding hers briefly, shouting at someone to hold Hattie down lest she severely hurt herself. She is lucid not even five seconds, gasping with the blinding confusion pain can bring, “Naomi?” and is pulled back under by whatever manner of evil this Mark is.

She wants to murder Solas so acutely she is worried she’ll summon a rage demon, but she does not. But he _will_ listen to her in return for stealing her arm and her life back home, or she will kill him.

And there is Cullen again, after another dream with muted pain and a cottage surrounded by wildflowers. The dream with him is viscerally real, more than any others. He kisses her, deeply, almost forcefully, as though to consume her when she doesn’t fight back. She lets him, letting herself drown in him, unable to help herself despite knowing she had to stop, _needed_ to stop.

“What happened? You were in so much pain and were gone a long time,” he says, fear weighing his voice, holding her close enough to feel his thundering heart. “Near a week.”

She knows this well. She closes her eyes.

When she wakes up, Hattie will be the Herald. When she wakes up, the Cullen she meets might not be this one. When Hattie wakes up, she wants—needs—to do her job and then disappear into obscurity.

She couldn’t see herself fucking her Cullen near every night and then looking another in the face without some trouble.

They are pressed together from hip to shoulder, her deposited in his lap the minute her eyes were open and she hadn’t snapped. She rests her head on his shoulder, nose pressed to his neck, clutching him to her. She breathes in his scent, tucking away the memory of hay and sweat and leather, the scent of only him beneath it all, and below that them. He breaths her in slowly, too, as if to save the memory of her smell as she's doing to him.

“I love you.” She tells him, the revelation cutting her down, leaving her small. She loves plenty of people, her devotion and love of and for her friends strong adamant. But this feels deeper, romantic and visceral and platonic all at once. Her innards splayed open to be viewed by all. “I love you and I—”

She loves him and cannot have him. Is already resigned to this without any proof.

But she is secretly selfish. She is so devoted to her friends because she wants them to stay and like her. Hattie is devoted to this man too, because she wants him to stay. Because she wants to stay.

“I missed you.” She sighs against his skin. “I’m having a bad week.”

“Anything I can do to help?” He rubs her back, fingers slow and pressing into her skin, pressing her into him. “You’ve never reacted like that before. What happened?”

“Just hold me. Lemme hold you.” She leaves a soft kiss on his skin. “You keep the world away when it goes to shit.”

Cullen tucks her head under his chin, fingers curling around the back of her neck, tangling in her hair. “You do the same for me, love.”

They stay like that for most of the night, eventually moving around to lay down. His arms keep around her, heavy, safe. A cocoon to hide in.

She can feel the edges of wakefulness and asks, “Did anything big happen for you?”

“Yes.”

“What was it?”

Cullen takes a careful breath. “A lot of people died. There was only one survivor and we thought her the culprit. Turns out she tried to save our Divine. Cassandra is sure of her innocence.”

Hattie feels a burble of hope fill her chest. She feels light as air, held down only by his arms. Maybe...?

“Really?” Hattie looks up at him. “Does she have a name?”

“I’m sure she does but I’m not privy to it,” Cullen sighs. “When I managed to sleep and did not first see you...” His hands on her back tighten. She can feel his arms tremble, the shudder of his chest beneath her. “I was terrified the Fade being ripped asunder had taken you from me.”

“No.” Hattie rests her lips over his heart, feels it beating there, strong and sure beneath her caress. “It didn’t. Never. I’m here.”

Cullen presses her more insistently against him, hiding his face in her hair. She rubs his shoulders, fighting off the need to wake up. Just a little more, just a few more minutes. Just in case she was wrong. Just in case she was right and Xenon _had_ dropped her in a world where Cullen did not know her.

“How did you realize I am not just a dream?” He asks her.

Hattie laughs breathlessly. “Hard not to when I wake up with the imprint of your teeth on my shoulder and your cum between my legs.”

Cullen drops his head against the pillows. “I should be worried that our dreams are forcing themselves into reality but all I can think about is people seeing my mark and knowing you’d been ravished. How you felt to feel me ooze out of you.”

She opens her mouth to respond, heart picking up speed and aroused by his words. He smiles tiredly, spark of hope in his eyes, and asks, “Vixen, do you think—”

Then her eyes open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Xenon is an asshole.
> 
> That is all.


	17. Chapter 17

She opens her eyes, the sweet smoke of a blazing fire wreathing her. She covers her eyes, cursing.

What was he about to say? He looked so tired, yet so full of hope. Her gut roils with renewed anxiety, especially as she wakes up further and further. And remembers she has to go see Cassandra at the Chantry, have the Inquisition officially declared, meet her advisors and go to the Hinterlands, then Orlais and gather her allies and—

The door creaks open and Hattie drops her hand. She waits for the box of medicine to fall but it never does. Instead it clinks against the writing desk.

“You’re awake!”

Hattie sits up at the familiar voice. “Naomi!”

Her best friend rushes across the room, taking Hattie’s face in her hands and checking her over, grinning ear to ear with relief. “I knew you’d wake up in three days but the wait was killing me.”

“How are you even here?” She asks, shocked. “I came through the Fade alone.”

Naomi nods, releasing Hattie’s face to hug her. Hattie returns the hold gladly. “So did I.” She lets go of Hattie to sit back. “You brought me through that big ass rift in the Temple. I was wandering around, lost, and I…” She hesitates, unsure of how to describe it. “I heard you? But it wasn’t you. Like the impression of you calling out. I ran towards you, towards the rift, and escaped right before it closed.”

“And no one shot you?” Hattie is shocked. “They’d have thought you a ghost or demon.”

“They didn’t have the chance.” Naomi shrugs. “I saw you on the ground, spasming, and went into nurse mode, barking orders. Never seen a bunch of people jump to it that fast. When I said your name, Varric immediately offered assistance and Solas followed.”

Varric was the only one who’d known her name. Naomi using it would have immediately clued the dwarf in that the two were at least acquaintances, if not friends.

“Oh, _Nomes_.”

Hattie hugs her friend close, tucking her face against the woman’s shoulder. Her voice is muffled when she speaks, “I’m so glad I’m not here alone.”

“Same.” Naomi agrees, sounding a bit congested. She sniffles. “It was touch and go for a minute. You started convulsing again, shrieking, and Adan was suggesting we just…” Pure rage light up the woman’s voice, her hold on Hattie tightening almost painfully. “Just _let you die_. I had to call for help to get you held down so Solas could administer a sleeping draft.”

Naomi sags against Hattie. “Don’t you ever do that again.”

“If we make it to Trespasser I lose my arm,” Hattie reminds. “So I just might.”

“I’ll murder Solas before then,” Naomi huffs.

“Then I die, because there’s no one to take my Mark back.”

“Fuck!”

Hattie nods. She takes Naomi’s hands in hers, biting her lip. “Before we go meet Cass, there’s something else I need to tell you…”

Naomi’s frustrated look turns despairing. “Oh no. Those are never good words. Especially from _you_.”

“Yeah… you know how you told me you were having dreams about Iron Bull, like five months back?” Naomi nods slowly. “They aren’t just dreams. I think Xenon cast a spell on us. Before I ended up here, I woke up in my bed after another dream and, uhm.”

Naomi’s eyes move to Hattie’s shoulder, where the woman bet anything the bite mark and hickey still was. It had done some actual damage, and Solas undoubtedly only took care of her hand. “That’s from _Cullen_?”

Hattie looks away, face burning red. “Yes. And, uh, I had…” She purses her lips, puffing out her cheeks. “Ihadhiscuminmetoo.”

Naomi blinks. “What?”

“I had—”

“I heard you.” Naomi says. “I want to know if you got the morning after pill since I know for damn sure you don’t have birth control!”

“I did.”

Naomi exhales. And then pops Hattie on the arm. She yelps, rubbing where she’d been hit. “Why didn’t you say anything!? Five months! I could be having a horned kid, Hats!”

“I didn’t know!” Hattie objected. “I panicked, thought you guys would call me crazy, and chose to go out drinking and ignore it, find a solution after, but then _this_ happened!”

At ‘this’ Hattie points at her left palm with its glowing Mark. Naomi’s irritation fails. “Oh, Hats…”

Hattie covers her eyes. “And I don’t even know if we’re in the right Thedas. Xenon could have dropped us in a different one to be a butthole. But I can’t just _ask_ Cullen, what if I’m wrong and then he thinks me crazy? Talk about awkward.”

Naomi hugs her again. “He can ask then. I mean, you’ve probably told him alot about yourself. He’d know your face, too. And your name.”

That wasn’t a half-bad idea. “Okay.” Hattie sighs. “And we need to find out if this Iron Bull is yours, because there’s the Qun.”

“We are _not_ sacrificing the Chargers,” Naomi says immediately, and a bit violently. Lightning crackles in her eyes, turning the green bright and the brown amber.

“Never,” Hattie agrees whole-heartedly. “Only a monster does that.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay! Not even kidding, I forgot what day of the week it was. End of the year is no joke, man.

She’s jittery with nerves. She doesn’t mean to be.

But today they’ll be discussing what the state of the Hinterlands is in. Then be going to the Hinterlands. She knows this in her bones despite not having any prior warning. Cassandra had merely asked Hattie meet her in the council room.

Naomi would stay in Haven, helping Adan and in the medical tent. She wanted to go with, had demanded to, but her magic tended to only flare up when angry. She couldn’t coax it out at any other time even as Solas worked with her and Hattie on their magic. One tended toward inferno and the other towards storm, while Solas was proficient at ice and spirit. They were all utter opposites and it made learning hard once you left the basics and fundamentals, throw in the fact Hattie’s and Naomi’s magic was certainly Fade influenced but… well…

Hattie throws the staff down with a deep growl. “It’s not fuckin’ working!  _ Why _ do you insist on a staff?”

“It helps channel your focus.”

Hattie glares at Solas. “You didn’t need one until you woke up.”

Solas’s ears bend back, hating how casually she brought up his truths when it was just them and Naomi, who was helping Adan track down lost notes. He closes his eyes, seeking patience.

“Herald, I did not require a staff because magic was bountiful and at one’s fingertips. Now, because of the Veil, that is no longer true.” He levels her a look. “One cannot easily wave their hand and expect magic to happen now, not without extensive training or many years under one's belt. Lighting a sword on fire is child’s play, anyone could do it.”

“Then why don’t they?”

She’s antagonizing him, Hattie  _ knows  _ she is. She can’t help it. She’s mad she has the Mark and nervous to meet this Cullen. She had acutely avoided anywhere he may frequent, not ready to see whether or not her heart would be crushed. It didn’t help they hadn’t dreamed together all week. She’d instead gotten to explore the Fade and bitch Solas out for harassing her.

“As I said,” Solas has a growl on the edge of his voice, “it is child’s play.”

“But it uses less mana, and makes you more dangerous in battle.” Hattie argues. “I took down demons faster than Cass or you!”

“While that is true, it is not good to rely on a weapon. If you are disarmed, you have magic at your disposal but no knowledge of how to use it.”

“We’ll be fighting Templars too, Solas. What if they try to suppress my magic? Having a sword is still useful.”

She can see she’s stumped him, however briefly, and so grins brightly. “Glad we had this talk. I’m still taking a sword. Bye!”

She turns to run back for Haven, leaving the training staff behind, and Solas calls, “We will continue your training on the road, Herald!”

She curses her rotten luck but doesn’t argue the point.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A gift of the new year and the answer to a question I know a lot of you have had concerning Cullen. :)

“He really wants us to learn just magic,” Naomi mutters petulantly. “Which is all well and good, _if I could use it_.”

Hattie nods agreement. “I can do it well without trying, but once I start thinking about it, trying to cast spells instead of going with the flow, I can’t do it.”

“And I have to throw a temper tantrum to use mine.”

They were heading for the Chantry, walking close and in all the layers they had. Naomi had lucked out and Xenon had been kind enough to gift her some badass leathers with blue and pink accents. She’d claimed to not like them because of the Sailor Moon feel. Usagi deserved a better setting to be flaunted in, but Hattie found them adorable. It helped they kept her well protected, even in the shorts and thigh-highs with the skirt flaps that made her a little… sexy.

“Maybe it’s because of all the time you spend controlling your emotions as a nurse? You know, have to stay calm and collected and not get nervous? This place makes you feel like you’re at work.” Hattie wonders. “And I tend to just… let it rip and listen to mine?”

“Are you saying I’m Raven and you’re Starfire?”

“I mean if the shoe fits, Rae…” Hattie trails. Naomi gives a scandalized look and swats at Hattie. The Herald shrieks a laugh as she dodges and takes off running, best friend laughing right behind her.

They come up the Chantry steps, sobering quickly at the disapproving murmurs and sideways looks. Hattie glares back at them, lifting her chin. Several sisters look away from them as they enter the Chantry, heading across to the council room.

Hattie hesitates at the door, hand hovering over the handle. Naomi doesn’t push her. Hattie looks at Naomi desperately.

“Can you turn the knob?”

“No.”

She glares and Naomi doesn’t bat an eye, still patiently waiting. Hattie sighs and grabs the handle, turning it and opening the door. She steps through first and—

It feels as if she’d known where he was standing, just off the center of the room. His hand rests lazily on the pommel of his sword, discussing supplies with Josephine. He looks up at the door opening, meeting her eyes, and a fine trail of cold slips down her spine. Her belly feels warmer suddenly seeing those amber eyes in person, the hint of a smile at the corner of his lips that might have been there because Josie is a delight or because of her.

She blinks, finds the hint of a smile gone, and she looks at Cassandra. Naomi moves to look at the war table. Hattie steps up beside her.

“You guys wanted to see me?” Hattie asks, trying very strongly to keep from looking at Cullen. She didn’t feel his gaze on her so…?

Her heart twinges worriedly. Her mouth feels dry and she swallows, finding cotton in the back of her mouth.

“Yes.” Cassandra agrees, giving Naomi a scrutinizing look. “Hattie, Naomi, I would like to introduce you to Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition’s forces.”

“Such as they are.” He sighs. He looks tired, weighed down, and she wishes she could bundle him up and hide him away for a little bit. Just a few hours. “We lost many soldiers in the valley, and I fear many more before this is through.”

Hattie nods with her customer service smile, careful to keep her eyes on his nose so she’d need not look down the zero recognition in his eyes. She looks to Josie as Cassandra introduces her as well.

“A pleasure,” Josie gives a polite smile.

“And of course you know Sister Leliana.”

“My position here requires a degree of…”

“She is our spymaster.”

“Yes.” Leliana lets out a fond if exasperated sigh. “Tactfully put, Cassandra.”

“Glad to meet you all,” Hattie says, barely stopping herself from holding out her hand for handshakes.

Cassandra brings up closing the Breach with her Mark, and Leliana and Cullen begin to argue whether the Mages and Templars are better suited to help close it. Hattie stands there, fingers curling into fists. Naomi touches her elbow and Hattie relaxes.

“Unfortunately, neither group will speak to us yet. The Chantry has denounced the Inquisition— and you, specifically.”

“And both options are currently misguided,” Hattie mutters.

Naomi tenses beside her as the four turn to look at Hattie, Cassandra and Leliana knowingly and the other two with interest. Hattie almost shrinks under their gaze but instead straightens her spine and lifts her chin.

“You knew of the soldiers stranded in the mountain pass,” Cassandra reminds. “And knew our names before we had even spoken them. I am sure of it, as you knew Varric’s and Solas’s.”

“I did,” Hattie agrees because it’s better than denying, hedging her way into the lie she was building. “I just… know… sometimes? Not always. And I don’t always know specifics.”

“How are the Templars misguided?” Cullen asks, and Hattie nearly jumps at his tone. A curious mix of interest and dubious belief, luckily more of the former.

She looks at him and decides how to word it. “There’s more people at play against us than just the man that was at the Temple. They work with him, his own spies unnoticed by the rest among the Templars.” She frowns, deciding what else to say. “And magic that shouldn’t be messed with is misguiding the mages. No demons, just… magic. Foreign magic. Choosing one dooms the other, and I can’t help both.”

Naomi is looking at Hattie as if she’s lost her mind. Hattie doesn’t meet Naomi’s gaze.

“I wish I could,” Hattie murmurs, then says loud enough for them all to hear. “For now, I’m inclined towards the mages. Magic caused this, magic will fix this. And there are children and elderly among them. Kids deserve a future outside of servitude and fear. One of hope and growth. And the elderly deserve to live their final years peacefully.”

“You think mages shouldn’t have formal training?”

It’s a leading question, intentionally a twist of her words, and Hattie won’t bite. "They should, but how I think it should be done doesn’t matter. What matters is we are in the middle of an upheaval, and the death of your Divine has only made things worse. I am not a speaker for Andraste, I don’t even believe in her, but what I believe doesn’t matter. What matters is these people need hope and a clear voice above the clamoring power grab left in Divine Justinia’s wake. What matters is that Mother Giselle wants to talk to me and I need to know whether its safe to go or not.”

It’s weird being so close to an argument with someone you’ve never had one with. She knows if she’d been as irritable as she’d been on the trek to the Temple she’d have definitely gotten into an argument with him, would have likely said something mean and caused the entire meeting to devolve into chaos. It’s weird to be jumping parts of a conversation she’s gone over way too many times too, but she wants to get on the road and fast. There were other questions to be answered and they could only be done by asking those outside their group.

Naomi, quiet until then, says, “Is it safe? Will she— _they_ be safe?”

Josephine, glancing between the Commander and Herald curiously, looks to Naomi. “While there is fighting between ex-Templars and mages, as well as the regular occurrence of bandits, it is safe for them to travel as Lady Cassandra, Master Tethras, and Solas have experience in combat, and Hattie has shown some natural proficiency with a sword and magic. Clearing out the fighting and bandits should endear the Inquisition to Mother Giselle and help her opinion of Hattie.” Josephine nods to Hattie. “It helps the ‘Herald of Andraste’ is not shy in the use of her abilities, nor attempted to stop the rumors, word of which has spread fast and reached Mother Giselle, along with the rumors of the woman seen in the rift she stepped out of.”

“And it scares the Chantry,” Hattie huffs, crossing her arms. “All children, mad about their broken toys.”

Cassandra grimaces but doesn’t argue the apt assessment for a majority of the Chantry.

Hattie rubs her face. “Why do they even think me the Herald? I get thinking the woman Andraste but I’m sure there's been other Seers? And this Mark is more a curse than blessing.”

“It is _because_ they saw that you were able to stop the Breach and have heard of the woman in the rift they think you the Herald,” Cassandra explains. “You said it yourself, people need hope. A clear voice over what is going on in Orlais. And you have provided that, no matter the Chantry’s stance on the Inquisition and their decision to name us heretics.” The Seeker sets her hand on Hattie’s shoulder. “I have not heard of a Seer until you, and whether you think them a gift of the Maker or not, they are needed in such times as these.”

Hattie rubs her face more before asking, “When do we leave for the Hinterlands?”

“As you have already brought up Mother Giselle,” Leliana speaks up, “she is tending the wounded in the Hinterlands near Redcliffe. She knows those involved far better than I and you are correct to think her assistance invaluable.”

“Try looking for other opportunities to expand the Inquisitions influence while you’re there,” Cullen suggests, looking just a little chastised after she’d so easily shut down his tug at her interest in the mages.

“We need agents to extend our reach past this valley,” Josephine agrees, “and you’re better suited than anyone to recruit them.”


	20. Chapter 20

The meeting ends shortly after. While Leliana had taken the opportunity to send scouts ahead, feeling Hattie already knew of Mother Giselle asking for her, there was still waiting to be done. Another three days, at least. Much to Hattie’s well concealed annoyance.

“At least we have a few more days together,” Naomi sighs, them making way back to their cabin. Naomi had declined having a place for herself made, or using Varric’s spare tent. Haven wouldn’t be here forever and it was best to not stress out the tiny village when they had so few resources. “We can plan.”

“Plan what?” Hattie asks, unlocking the door. It is warm inside and she shucks off her cloak, tossing it over the back of her chair. The room was plain, them yet to amass anything of their own. _If_ they ever would. “I just have to complete everything in the Hinterlands but the dragon and come back. Here I… I’ve no idea what goes on here when the Herald is gone.”

Naomi sits on their bed, holding her arms. “Yeah.”

“Have you… you dreamed with Bull?” Hattie starts to pace, thinking of what she needs to pack. She needed to get a sword from Threnn, a travel bag too if honest. “Told him you’re here?”

“I have dreamed with him, yeah.” Naomi shrugs. “But I haven’t, haven’t told him I’m in Thedas yet. Just told him I realized this isn’t a dream. We’re talking right now. … Mostly.”

Hattie pauses, giving Naomi a raised eyebrow and a smirk. She couldn’t be mad at Naomi, she’d definitely do the same if the Fade wasn’t a little bitch. For her best friend’s part, the brunette flushes and ducks her head.

“Have you talked with Cullen?”

Hattie’s bit of mirth falls. “Not since before I woke up.” Hattie comes to sit down. “I’ve only been in the Fade this past week. And the Cullen here must not be him. There was no recognition and… I don’t know. I expected it but…”

Naomi puts her arm around Hattie. “Still hurts. I’m sorry, Hats.”

Hattie rests her head on Naomi’s shoulder, curling towards her. “Thanks, Nomes.”

A thought occurs to her. “Wait… how have I not heard you? We sleep in the same bed!”

“We’ve been trying gags out,” Naomi explains. “And you’re a really heavy sleeper.”

“Oh my _god._ ”

“That’s what I say!”


	21. Chapter 21

“I’m in Thedas.”

They’re the first words out her mouth upon seeing Cullen in her dream. She sits on the edge of the bed, touching the rope so he’s unbound. He sits up, settling behind her so she’s between his legs, his arms wrapping around her. She leans back into him, soaking up his warmth.

“You’re not here.” She adds. “I’m the Herald here and I met him. He’s not you.”

“You’re sure?” He asks, tone odd.

“Yes.” Hattie settles her hands over his where they rest on her stomach, lightly stroking her skin. “He didn’t recognize me. I was worried about getting my hopes up so I didn’t say anything and… I’m still sad. I wanted it to be you. I want to be with you.”

“You are.”

“Not in person,” she sighs. “Not like I want to be.”

Cullen tucks his face against her neck, kisses her shoulder. She leans more into him. “You’re my safe haven, Cullen. This is going to be a shitshow and I….” Hattie swallows. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do the farther in this I get. You’re keeping me afloat right now. You’re my,” she flexes her left hand, the phantom pain there, “my anchor.”

He squeezes her to him, inhales slowly, and asks, “There’s no one else with you?”

“There’s Nomes, yes, but she’s as lost as me. If not more.” Hattie squeezes her hand again, a burble of frustration rising. “Why did I have to fucking grab it? If I hadn’t of, I would, would—”

She’d be dead. They would all be dead. Thedas would be in ruins. No one to save them because everyone at the Conclave plus one would be dead. She covers her eyes.

“Shit.”

“Deep breaths,” he urges gently, taking her hands in his to run his thumbs along the backs in soothing circles. “Panicking will help no one.”

“I’m not panicking,” she bites, voice breaking. “I’m just scared.”

Cullen’s hands ease a little, as if surprised. Then he holds her hands tighter. “You’ve never struck me as the type to scare easily.”

She laughs wetly. “Cullen, I’m even scared by my own shadow. I’m just usually around people who need me not to be.”

“Then,” he pauses, thinking. She pulls her knees up, shifting to lean against him sideways. He adjusts to her position, one hand light on her hip and the other still holding hers sat atop her thigh. “Then be scared here. You can talk here. If you can’t with your friend, do so here.”

“You don’t think I’m weak for being scared?”

“No.”

The word is feather soft, barely a breath of air against her skin. He noses the fine hairs at the top of her head, inhaling. She feels his chest expand, pressing against her skin, warm and soft.

“I think it admirable you continue to move forward despite that fear. Many will look up to that.”

“I….” She can’t speak. She can’t think of anything to say. She wiggles to tilt her head back and kiss his chin. It’s an awkward position but neither comment on it. She tucks herself back under his chin, closing her eyes and listening to his heart.

The hand on her hip tightens, eases, tightens again. She realizes it's him trying to bring up the nerve to speak.

“What is it?”

“Are you… a mage?”

She isn’t sure if its the tone, odd like his earlier question and strangely even, or the question that makes her tense.

“Is it an issue if I am?”

“No. Never.” A beat of hesitation. “I’m simply worried about your safety in case of any demons.”

“Cullen…”

Her voice is low, sharp on the edges. She draws away from him to stand, to look down at him. He looks back, brows bunched up and mouth set in a hard line, making the scar stand out.

“No demon can offer me anything worth having. And for whatever reason I can tell the difference between Fade and dream.” She bites, maybe more defensive than required but it was _true_. Demons were cunning but they couldn’t copy her dreams or this bedroom. The Fade had a strange, tapestry-like quality to it, but her dreams were gauzy and translucent, though solid the more lucid she was. Here it was real as could be, edges no longer the gauzy edges of a dream. “I have nothing to worry about.”

“I still worry,” Cullen sighs, giving up, bowing his head.

She had expected a fight, and finding there isn’t one isn’t sure what to say. She steps close, letting him wrap his arms around her, forehead pressed against her stomach. His breath fans across her soft tummy, settling the need to fight that had begun to claw underneath her skin.

“I know.” She pets his hair in long, soothing strokes. “I know you do. But you don’t have to worry about me. I know what I’m doing.”

“That only makes me worry more.”

She chuckles, equally tired as him. She continues to pet him, trying to share whatever calm she has left. “I’m sorry, dear.”

Cullen trembles against her, hands on her back holding tighter, pulling her closer. She lets him, the touches soothing for her.

“I love you.”

It’s muffled against her skin, words hot and damp. Her heart twists within her rib cage, far too gentle and always far too guarded. The armor there chips away at his words.

“I love you, Hattie.”

Hearing him repeat the words her hands still, buried in his soft hair. She holds him to her, just standing there in the silence left by the tender, effusive words.

“And I wish I could keep you safe, that I could protect you.”

“You do, Cullen,” she murmurs, beginning to pet him again.

“Not like I want to.”

Her heart aches. A gentle suffusion of want, whole and heavy.

“How do you want to protect me?”

“Like this.”

She can’t stop the tiny smile from teasing across her lip. “So you want to lock me away from the world? It needs someone to help it, Cullen, and I’m the one they’re looking to this time.”

He raises his head and she notices the red ringing his eyes, making the gold look duller. She murmurs softly, hands smoothing through his hair to cup his neck and jaw. He loosely holds her wrists in his hands, the rough pads of his thumbs running along the thin skin there.

“Not forever,” he promises. “Only when they ask too much. And I know you’ll say yes, because you want to help.” Cullen presses against her pulse point, feels the strong beat there. “You’ll weigh yourself down and not ask for help.”

“Sounds like you know from experience.”

Silently, she urges him to stand. He does so, face still cradled in her hands, still holding her wrists, looking at her like she makes the world spin.

“Do I need to return the favor?”

“I,” he licks his lips, “would not say no.”

“Hm.”

She kisses him, gentle and slow. “You’re a good man, Cullen. I love that about you.”

He kisses her, chasing her lips when she draws away, smiling gently, laughter in her chest. She drops her hands, and he holds them, drawing them to his chest. “Naomi and I share a bed.”

He grins, eyes bright and pupils dilating with want. “Then be quiet.”

Her mouth drops open, unable to stop her grin. “Cullen!”

He pulls her in by her hands, kissing her again. “I do so enjoy hearing you say my name.”

She laughs, letting him turn her around, backing her to the bed. “Wow you’re terrible.”

“Hm.”

He pushes her down, releasing her hands to climb onto the bed. She crawls backwards, grinning brightly at him.

“I can’t believe I’m in love with you.”

“Hm.”

He crouches over her, caging her in under him. She’s still grinning, laughing in little bursts. She reaches for his hair, mussing it further. It sticks up in places, a few locks even falling in his eyes.

“You have a fixation with my hair.”

“I do. It’s very soft.” Hattie walks her fingers down his body, humming as she traces his abs. Cullen’s own smile falters, and she can see the bob of his throat. “A good counterpoint to the rest of your very hard body.”

To drive the point home, she lifts her hips, rubbing against his cock. He thrusts without warning, running along her slit. She giggles as he growls.

“Vixen.”

“I’m just _teasing_ , puppy.”

He captures her lips in his, stealing her breath as he slips his tongue inside, tasting her. She grabs for his shoulders, moan swallowed by his mouth. He presses down upon her, so she could feel every firm inch of him, his hot length insistent against her thigh. She exhales shakily when he frees her mouth, head nestling in the crook of her shoulder to nip the skin there.

“All you do is tease, vixen.” He nips her again. “Maybe it time for just deserts?”

He thrusts again, listening to the little breathy mewl she emits as he teases her slit. She chuckles, uneven as she speaks, “I don’t think you get how good I am at denying myself.”

“I’m certainly not.”

She gasps as he slips in, her having been gathering wet from the second he’d touched her wrists. They’d always been a sensitive part of her, but Cullen managed to make it erotic.

“ _Shit_.”

He draws out, slides back in, hips flushed.

“Quiet, vixen. Remember,” he leans down to whisper in her ear, “you’re sharing a bed.”

“Oh you mother _f_ _ucker_!” He grinds into her, rubbing against her g-spot, as she says ‘fucker,’ pulling a long, obscene groan from her. “Oh, fuck, _puppy_.”

Cullen takes his time, keeping her hips pinned beneath his, wringing every lewd sound and noise she can make from her with each tortuously slow swivel of his hips. He litters her shoulders and collarbone with love bites and hickeys, teases her nipples, whispers filthy, filthy promises in her ear.

Hattie writhes beneath him, but won’t beg. She twists her hips, hoping for friction, clutches at his shoulders. The nips sting deliciously against her skin, leaving the flesh warm and bruised. She grasps at the sheets, the pillow, and any place of him she can reach—his hair, his shoulders, his back, pulling him in for kisses.

“I should do this more often,” he murmurs, drawing out a fraction, taking his time in seating himself once more. She whimpers beneath him. “When we meet, I’ll tie you down and see how many times I can make you cum on my tongue and fingers before you beg me to stop, beg me to take you fast and hard. But before that, I’ll see if you feel as good in person. Maybe against a wall.”

She shudders. “Cullen…”

He hums, grinning wickedly, looking down knowingly at her. His eyes seems to sparkle in the low lighting of the bedroom.

“Never struck me as the dirty talk type,” she rasps, chest flushed with his. “I like it.”

“You are very good at awakening a person’s unknown—what word did you use? Kinks?” When he says ‘kinks’, Cullen reaches between them to circle her clit with his thumb. She arches into the touch, desperate for release, but he’s quick to leave her wanting for more as he draws the hand away. He runs his hand from hip to calf, lifting the leg up, up, up until her ankle brushed his shoulder. The stretch burned pleasantly, and she was a little glad she’d started watching those free yoga videos on youtube before ending up in Thedas. “I didn’t have the urge to leave marks on my partner until you left me with them. And the ice was eye opening, vixen.”

The angle slides him deeper into her, leaves her panting for breath. “Glad to, glad to help.”

“I’m sure.”

At difference with his earlier ministrations, Cullen kisses her softly, asking for entrance with a lick along the seam of her mouth. Hattie welcomes him, opening her mouth to let him slip his tongue inside. She presses back insistently, tongues stroking along the other. She holds his face in her hands, unable to help herself. The scratch of his stubble was pleasant under her fingers, at odds with what she touched in her typical day to day.

He draws out of her, thrusting back slowly, an undemanding pace to his thrusts. She breaks the kiss to breath, free leg on his hip hitching further up, arch of her foot pressing into the back of his thigh. She rolls her hips into his thrusts, meeting them eagerly.

“I thought you were going to tease me?” She asks.

“I was.” Cullen mouths along her neck, her collarbone, her shoulder, leaving behind a damp trail. The marks on her skin tingle even more at the cool sensation. “But realized I wasn’t in the mood. Tonight… I wanted it to be just us, no ropes or ice or light touches.”

Her heart aches at his words. “ _Puppy_ ,” she coos. “You’re a sweetheart.”

He chuckles. “I don’t think I ever imagined being called a ‘sweetheart’ while inside a woman.”

She pulls him down for a kiss, quick and sweet. “Now you won’t have to.”

She can taste the rising wave of euphoria, feel her walls fluttering around his cock, eyes drooping closed. Hattie pulls him down to her to feel his heartbeat against her own, his rolling plunges into her speeding up, nearing release.

“Don’t leave me behind, Hattie,” he whispers in her ear, begging.

“Never, baby.”

She can feel the edge, almost see it, but can’t quite tip off the edge. She whimpers, meeting his thrusts harder. The slap of their slick skin creating echoes in the room, blending with their desperate sighs and moans. He swells within her, his own orgasm cresting.

He shifts without warning, reaches for her other calf to raise to his shoulder. His hair hangs across his forehead, stuck where the sweat gathered most. At the new angle Cullen pistons into her, bed slamming into the wall with forceful _thumps_. She flies off the edge into white noise and stars, clawing for purchase in whatever her hands touch, toes curling so hard she felt a muscle cramp, overshadowed by sweet release. She might have screamed, the noise swallowed by his mouth on hers.

She could _feel_ him in her, filling her in a mellow warmth, pulled deeper as her walls contracted around him. She shook under him, crying his name.

Her eyes open to pre-dawn light, right leg aching like a bitch, left pulled toward her so the knee pointed to the ceiling, slightly leaning. The cabin is empty, thank gods, and she hopes it was empty before she got noisy.

Hickies were beginning along her skin, darkest against the paleness of her collarbone where all of Haven could see, little points of aching. And her panties, upon inspection, were soaked, with both her essence and Cullen’s.

Gods fucking dammit.

There was _no way_ she could ask Adan or Solas without getting questioned.

But she’d have to. _Shit_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone who guessed correctly, ilysm


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my eagerness to post got ahead of me and you guys get a double update a few days early!

Hattie knocks on the door of Adan’s shop, nervously shuffling. The man answers, eyes squinting in the blue haze of dawn.

“Herald.”

The greeting is gruff and very much a Why The Fuck Did You Wake Me This Early voice. She twists her cloak, which she’s clutching closed at the top to hide the hickeys.

“Hi, morning. I need a thing. For. Uhm.” Her face pinks. “Please don’t judge me.”

He peers at her as if she’s grown a second and third head. “What?”

Hattie puffs out her cheeks and leans in, which he obligingly mirrors, and whispers, “I need something to keep me from getting pregnant?”

Adan pulls away, looking owlish. Then shakes his head in disbelief. “Who…? No, no. Come in.” He rubs his forehead, looking terribly confused. She can hear the apothecary grumbling as he moves about, “When he brought the stuff, thought he was just being cautious ‘cos it’s uncertain times…”

Too nervous to ask, Hattie watches him move about, collecting herbs and roots to bring to a mortar and pestle, the long flat granite kind with a wide, rectangular rolling stone, becoming thinner on the ends. She’d used one once when a little girl, can vaguely recall the feel of corn kernels grinding to dust beneath fragile palms and hard stone.

He pauses in his work, rubs his jaw and thinks. Blinks blearily at her. Then shakes his head, mutters something, and goes back to work.

He grinds it all down, uses a brush of pig bristles to sweep it onto a little wax coated paper and folds it. He holds it out to her.

“Take this with some hot water and wait an hour before you eat. Should do the trick.”

She reaches for her coin purse with the bit of money she was getting from the Inquisition by running errands. He waves his empty hand, shakes the packet at her with the other.

“Don’t worry. Can’t have the Herald getting pregnant in such times as these.” Adan, still very tired, blinks at her a few times. “Remind him to be a bit more courteous and pull out next time, eh?”

Face red as the setting sun, she nods. “Th-thanks, Adan. And you won’t tell anyone?”

“Mhm. Ain’t no one’s business but yours’s,” he mumbles. “And make sure that mage checks you over. Seems he’d know a magic trick or two.”

 _Not in this lifetime,_ she thinks, but promises to and exits quickly, all but running back to the cabin.

The cabin is still empty and she grabs the iron tea pot, fills it with snow from outside, and sets it over the fire to boil. When it begins to whistle, she pour some of the boiling water into her flask and sets the pot on the tiny table. She dumps the powder into the water and shakes, watching and waiting and praying for the temperature to cool faster for her.

She sips it at one point to check the temperature and, despite the sting to her tongue, drains the contents anyway. The hot water burns all the way down, spreading through her limbs and into her fingers and toes.

Hattie doesn’t know how long she sits there, but the sun rises until the light fills the room and eventually there is a knock on the door.

“Herald?” Cassandra calls in confusion. “Did you wish to train with a sword or not?”

She exhales in relief. It’s definitely been over an hour then, as she’d asked Cassandra to begin teaching her how to use a sword. The Seeker had agreed to, starting after the morning Chants. Which finished around 8am. She must have missed the bells in her haze of panic.

“Coming, Cassandra!”


	23. Chapter 23

His back stings where her nails had raked across his back, reminding him of how real the dreams were becoming. Cullen cleans up as fast as he can, pulling on a fresh shirt while reaching for the door knob.

Then he freezes, hand hovering.

She needed a safe place.

 _He_ was her safe place.

His hand fists, presses against the door. He leans his forehead against the door, feels the grain of the wood, closing his eyes. 

He saw her, clear as the moon on a cloudless night. Hair so black it was like a void, curling under her chin with the vaguest notion of waves. A smart nose, straight and aristocratic. Smooth, dark eyebrows. Round cheeks, ruddy and soft. Her hazel eyes and pink lips and body and high voice finally had a face, had a _name_ she answered too.

The same woman he had seen in the war room. The same woman he had poked at for her choice in the mages.

He was a _moron_.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he whispers, fervently and angrily.

She didn’t know the Cullen she’d met was him, because he hadn’t realized it was her. How could he not have recognized her by voice alone? Her accent was unique.

He hits the door.

“I have to go talk to her.”

He gets the door open, is halfway to the doors. And then stops.

Naomi and Hattie were sharing a bed. He didn’t know if Naomi was aware of the spell between Hattie and him, though she may be aware of it now as Hattie was not quiet. Ever.

And she relied on him to be her anchor.

What if him actually being here ruined that? Took away the knowledge she had a place to go in her dreams, away from the weight he already could tell would come with a title like ‘Herald’? Knight-Commander had been a weight he had hoped to one day have, but had felt it all the same. Herald was far above that.

Taking a page out of Hattie’s book, he says, “Motherfucker.”

He stares at the doors of the Chantry.

He needed to go to Hattie. He _wanted_ to go to Hattie.

To hold her. Cuddle her. See what she looked like with morning sunlight in her eyes and her hair. He wanted to make love to her, and be there after, settle in the afterglow. They could have a round two, a round three.

Most importantly he could _be with her._ No longer just dreams. It would be reality.

He opens the left door of the Chantry. He steps out into the cold early morning. His breath frosts before him.

He takes a step, another, and then— he can see the door of Adan’s shop and home open, lantern light spilling across the snow and sparse grass. The outline of Hattie’s body, hunched and tired. She is saying something to Adan, and then running to her cabin once the door has closed, head ducked low.

Cullen watches the door of her cabin open, her disappearing inside quick.

All he can see is her head ducked low.

And he can guess why she was at Adan’s right after their dream ended.

Taking another page out of her book of inventive curses, he says, “Shit fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why, yes, Cullen, your Herald IS also your dream girlfriend. Imagine that!


	24. Chapter 24

Hattie is glad Cassandra doesn’t ask about the hickies. Her eyes linger on them, and she raises an eyebrow, but thankfully never says a thing.

Cassandra shows her some basic moves, how to block and parry, to push someone back. She picks the parrying up easier than blocks, advancing aggressively given the slightest chance. Cassandra commends her on taking initiative to keep her enemy backing up, but cautioned to not get to ahead of herself.

When they stop to break, Hattie asks,

“Do you think I’ll be fine on the road?”

“With some more training, yes.”

Cassandra pats Hattie on the shoulder. “We’re done for the day. Go get some lunch. Naomi and Varric were in the Singing Maiden last I saw.”

“Oh, thanks!” Hattie gives her practice sword back to Cassandra, who takes the poor, scorched wooden implement back. “Come join us?”

“I have a meeting with Leliana,” Cassandra says. She does walk back to Haven with Hattie though, who tries to casually pull her cloak closed at the top. Cassandra glances at her and then says, haltingly. “I can ask Josephine for something to wear around your neck… if you would like?”

Hattie ducks her head. “I… wouldn’t say no. Uhm, it won’t happen again.”

“Well, I, uhm,” Cassandra clears her throat, “What you and Naomi do behind closed doors is not my concern, nor that of the town’s.”

Hattie stops walking. She narrows her eyes at Cassandra, thinking she’s kidding, who looks confused by Hattie’s reaction. “Is that… wrong?”

“Me and Naomi are sisters.” Hattie says, very clearly and calmly. “These are not from her.”

Cassandra’s face slackens. Embarrassment turns her cheeks red. “My apologies.”

“It’s okay. We do share a bed so I guess its easy to get that idea.” Hattie rubs her cheek, clutches the cloak a little tighter. “But uh, no. Wasn’t her. And I’m not saying who.”

Cassandra nods. “I shall ask Josephine immediately. In the interim…”

“Try not to let Haven think their beloved Herald is a hussy?”

Cassandra makes a noise at that. “Herald!”

Hattie grins. “I’m not wrong.”

“Think what you like but, _please,_ attempt some decorum.”

“Oh I am.” She tugs on her cloak to prove her point. They pass by the training recruits and soldiers. She can hear this Cullen shouting at someone to “keep that shield up” and a bit of melancholy hits her. She wishes… well it didn’t really matter right now what she wished, did it? She couldn’t fix that. Not right now, anyway.

They reach the walls of Haven and Hattie pats her Companion’s shoulder, even as Cassandra begins to say something that could potentially be important. “I’ll see you later, Cass.”

She takes off for the Singing Maiden.


	25. Chapter 25

“You are an asshole.”

Hattie blinks at Naomi from where she sits by the fire in their cabin, fidgeting with the scarf around her neck from Josephine. It was a dark brown and really soft. She may keep it once the hickies were gone, enjoying rubbing it against her cheeks and hiding her lower face in it. With every passing day she felt a bit more hamster-like than she did the day before.

They’d spent the afternoon with Varric in the Singing Maiden, and Cassandra had come by with the scarf. They’d gotten her to sit for a round of drinks and that was about it. Then Naomi and her had come back to settle in for the night. Hattie had one day left before leaving for the Hinterlands, and that meant Naomi’s and her time together was short.

“What did I do?”

“You _kicked_ me last night!” Naomi accuses, as horror dawns on Hattie, turning her white with shock. “And you’re really loud, did you know that? _And_ talk in your sleep. The talking was fine until I got an earful of your moaning.” And, in a slightly high voice, Naomi says breathily, “‘Oh, _Cullen_ ’.”

“Oh goddess mother of the Tuatha Dé Danann.” Hattie covers her face, burning and red in embarrassment. “I was hoping you’d woken up _before_.”

“No.” Naomi crosses her arms, looking extremely cross. “I’ll forgive you for making me steal Varric’s spare tent on one condition.”

“Anything.” Hattie says, looking between her fingers at Naomi.

Naomi makes a ‘a-huh, sure’ face, and then says, “What was it like?”

“ _Nomes!?_ ”

“Ah-uh!” Naomi waggles a finger. “You’re sexytime yoga kicked me out of the cabin. I deserve compensation. To make it fair I’ll share my dreams too.”

Well… that _did_ sound fun. If Andi and Leah were here, and they had a few bottles of alcohol, they could make a whole game out of it. Maybe drag Leliana in if she’d romanced the Warden. Hattie likes the idea, so she drops her hands and says,

“I am _not_ describing his dick, but yeah, sure. I’ll tell you.”

“Fuck yes!” Naomi crows, throwing her hands in the air. She grabs their desk chair, pulling it over. “You told me about the first two dreams, and then never said shit again. Beyond freaking about Cullen. Gimme the deetz.”

“Oh christ,” Hattie says. “So… we’re really into pet names?”

There’s a long, expectant pause.

“Well?”

“Sorry, I’m… not used to sharing?” Hattie laughs nervously. “I call him puppy. He calls me vixen.”

“That’s actually really cute,” Naomi sits back in the chair. “Imagine calling him that in front of people.”

“I have imagined that, actually.” Hattie laughs. “And also really enjoy tying him down.”

“Oh same. Me and Bull had this _whole_ sex swing thing for a while. Totally eye opening.”

“You can leave the bed?”

“Yeah! It’s a dream area you have control over! You can’t?”

Hattie actually has to think about it. Save last night, where she’d only stood right in front of it, she’d never tried. She’d figured the bed was the end of the boundaries of the dream room, the rest just like wallpaper… she has some new ideas now.

“That’s your thinking face. What are you planning?”

“X-rated fantasies.”

“ _Share_ , bish. Don’t leave me hanging.”

“Like Bull does?” Hattie stands as Naomi laughs, grabbing her coin purse. “Hold on, hoe. We need some wine or something.”

“Lemme come with.” Naomi grabs her coat, following eagerly out the door. “You’d avoid this by asking Varric about Hawke. I know you.”

“I am very interested in this sex swing nonsense, actually.” Hattie tightly closes the door. “Don’t be rude.”

They continue to talk about the sex swing, and the likelyhood of finding one in Thedas, as they reach the Singing Maiden. Where they’re getting a lot of Looks™. They shut up about the sex swing promptly, despite having gotten to musing on Orlais likely having them because yeah, definitely seemed like a French invention, and Orlais was Dragon Age France. French people were secretly freaky.

Naomi leans in to whisper, “People definitely think we’re together.”

“Cass certainly did until I told her the hickies aren’t yours,” Hatte agrees quietly. “Just means no one’s gonna hit on us at least?”

“Hm, true. Okay.”

They make for the counter, waving down Flissa. “We need wine! Can we buy a bottle?”

“What’s the celebration?” Flissa asks as she comes up to the counter.

“We are having a very rousing discussing by the fire and wine makes it funner. Funner?” Hattie looks at Naomi.

Naomi nods. “Funner.”

“Funner.” Hattie nods. “So was wondering if we can buy a bottle. Sweetest white you have.”

“I’m more partial to red than white. Like a pinot,” Naomi says.

“One for each of us then?”

“Sure.”

Flissa, tickled by the two, giggling goes to find the sweetest white and a slightly bitter red. Warningly, she says, “The red’s a bit pricey, Herald.”

“That’s fine. I never buy anything so I’ve saved up a bit.”

Flissa gives the price and Naomi nearly passes out, if not for holding onto the counter. Hattie doesn’t bat an eye. They take the bottles and promptly return to their cabin.

“Hattie, that’s like buying a whole ass armor part. Like the chest bit!” Naomi argues, but still takes a large drink of her wine. It’s a bit spicy, and definitely bitter, with a hint of grapes and ginger. “Holy shit.”

“We should learn what parts of armor is called,” Hattie muses, sipping her wine. “Especially if I’m gonna undress Cullen one day. I know what grieves are. Greeves? Greaves? Eh. Whatever. The arm bits.”

“Wait I thought those covered the shins?”

“Oh, shit.”


	26. Chapter 26

The Hinterlands isn’t as bad as Hattie expects. Though that might be the fact they haven’t reached any fighting yet. She sets down the firewood she’d gathered, and finds her own spot to sit on the logs positioned around the firepit. They were in one of the little campsites Leliana’s scouts had set up for Inquisition usage.

The sun was setting, dappling the ground with blood orange sunbursts and darkening green light. Chill was settling, encouraging Hattie to set up the tinder and a little pyramid of brush with a single log. She uses the stone and flint she carried around to kindle the tinder.

“You know much of traveling on the road. Have you done so frequently?”

She startles at Cassandra’s words, looking up at the Seeker who seems confused by Hattie’s ease around the campfire. It may be partly due to her lack of understanding of anything else in Thedas. But she had been a dutiful Girl Scout, and Dad loved to build a bonfire every New Year’s and Fourth, sometimes even when there was enough fallen limbs after a hurricane, ground still damp and rich from the storming. She’d started helping soon as she was taller than the rusty old oil drum her Dad favored for s’more making on cold Florida nights. This was a cake walk compared to anything else she did, though the last time she’d used something as archaic as flint she’d nearly set her hair aflame.

“No. I just know how to build a fire.”

“And cook over it. And set up tents. And gathering edible fruits.”

Cassandra appears confused. “You do not seem the type. You are well-read, have no calluses, are adept at many homely qualities, but are well-versed in the outside world as well.”

“I…”

They hadn’t asked where she was from yet. It seems to have gotten lost in needing to train her in magic and swords, to get her up-to-date in how to talk to any visiting courtiers or dignitaries if they housed them at some point. All they’d asked for was her name, something she gave easily. To them, she was just someone probably raised by a slightly better off family than most, maybe in a city.

“I’m not from here.”

“I am unsure of what you mean, Herald.”

“I mean…” Hattie sighs. “Can we wait on the others to come back? This is important. It relates to Naomi too, though she’ll be pissed when she finds out I told you. Maybe.”

Concern clear, the Seeker nods. “Of course.”

Solas returns first from placing wards around the camp. Varric is last, cheerfully carrying a trio of rabbits. Hattie wrinkles her nose at them, having never eaten rabbit before and wasn’t looking forward to it. But when in Thedas…

She helps Cassandra gut the rabbits, unbothered by the blood and warm guts as she had gloves on. If she didn’t have the gloves, she’d have declined. Beheading and skinning them she leaves to Cassandra, and knows she looks even more weird to the Seeker.

Dad had taken her and her brother fishing tons of times growing up, and eventually they had learned how to gut and descale or skin them. It was when she had learned dead animals, so long as she didn’t know them, didn’t bother her all that much. You cut from throat to crotch, careful to not go too deep and you had to scoop out everything. Grabbing could cause the organs to burst and then the meat was useless as it was contaminated by shit. They’d lost good catfish that way, though Dad had laughed more at her faces than been angry at the ruined fish.

When the rabbits are spitted and turning, her gloves cleaned in the nearby stream and left to dry, Cassandra finally asks, “You said you are not from here, what did you mean by this?”

Hatrie toys with her cloak’s finely crafted edges, given little artwork flames darker than the heavy hide. She stares into the fire, organizing her thoughts.

“I’m not from Thedas,” Hattie settles on. “Or the Fade. I think… whoever did this pulled me and Naomi through from our world. Earth.”

There is a stunned silence. Solas looks a mix of contemplative and constipated. Varric worried. Cassandra could be crowned Queen of Disbelief. Hattie tugs on her cloak edges.

“I explained this badly, didn’t I?” She rubs her cheeks. “Okay so… I don’t know _how_ this happened? I was out with some friends and we’d gotten drunk, I had come home and gone to bed, and woke up here, after the entirety of the Conclave thing had happened? Naomi had pretty much the same happen. I mean, I’ve told you what I remember from the Conclave, Cass. Running, the hand grabbing mine. Spiders. Ugh.” She shivers. “And then waking in the dungeon.”

More silence, but Hattie thinks if she talks anymore she’d start crying. She misses Gizmo and she misses her friends and family. What would they think of her disappearance? That she’d been kidnapped? Just started walking and never came back?

“This…” Cassandra takes a moment, mystified. “This Earth… you were shocked by your magic. Does it not exist?”

“No.” Hattie shakes her head. “Much as I wish it did. There are fairytales about it, books, movies, shows. But no magic. No dwarves or elves either, though plenty of myths and more fairytales. I’ve never heard of Qunari until here.” She shrugs. “This is all new to me.”

“It explains much about you.” Solas murmurs. “You have never shown a hesitation or fear of your magic except when faced with the possibility of hurting someone. And your open wonder at the world was like a child’s— you’ve not hidden it as well as you think you have.” He adds this at her grimace.

She ducks her head. “Fear of the unknown leads to irrationality. Seeking to understand is better.”

The Seeker inhales sharply. “But magic is—”

“It isn’t a toy,” Hattie cuts off, because Cassandra liked to tell her that when she fiddled with whatever she could conjure. “I know. It’s a gift, naturally occurring and something _I_ think should be cherished. Not a curse or whatever. The Fade shouldn’t be feared either. What I have seen of it doesn’t scare me, nor do the spirits or demons there.”

Hattie sighs. “I didn’t know how to tell you guys. I was terrified you’d think me insane. I have the feeling you probably do.”

Varric exhales slowly. “This isn’t the wildlest thing I’ve heard, to be fair.”

The three stare at Varric openly, eyebrows raised. “Have you met another like me?” A flutter of hope fills her. “What was her name?”

“I haven’t,” Varric says, killing Hattie’s hope, “but I’ve heard stories. Of people who’ve stumbled into Thedas from other places, some passed unnoticed but others were mages like you, new to their gifts, and…” Varric trails off. “You and Princess are the lucky ones.”

Hattie frowns. “That’s so odd, _and_ depressing. Maybe it was during Samhain or Yule? When our veil between the living and dead is thin.” She rubs the cloak against her cheek, thinking. “And something here happened to coincide? But then me and Naomi makes no sense, it’s summer on Earth…”

“I cannot hear you,” Cassandra says. “What is this ‘sow-in’?”

“Sow-win,” Hattie corrects. “Its an ancient Pagan holiday, when the harvest is taken in, the days began to shorten, and where the barriers between physical and spirit worlds break down for a limited time.”

“You said there is no magic on Earth.” Cassandra sounds accusing, but also curious.

“There isn’t.” Hattie assures, touching her grandmother’s necklace now. Her nerves finally calmed, feeling her grandmother was there despite being a world away. Grandma Bennie had been a very devout Christian, but she’d also always been sure to cover her bases too, and she’d always supported Hattie’s strangeness. “But there is unexplainable or hard to explain things. Which I believe in and honor.”

“And you believe this may have caused the slip between worlds?” Solas prods.

“Possible,” Hattie hums, which if there were others like Hattie and Naomi then maybe it _wasn’t_ all Xenon’s fault. Thedas and Earth could be connected, and countless other worlds too. “And Naomi and I are outliers because of the Conclave.”

The idea was a strange one, and this wasn’t the direction Hattie had anticipated the conversation going tonight. For now they seemed to accept her, Varric especially was inclined. When she looks at them all, processing what information she’s finally divulged, her heart sinks when she sees Cassandra. The Seeker is leaned forward, staring hard at the ground with a fierce scowl. One hand is gripping a knee tight, other balled against her mouth, troubled.

“Cass?”

“You have family. Friends. People who care for you and do not know where you’ve gone.”

Hattie takes a moment to process this sentence. Then she nods, slowly. “Yes. But it’s okay.”

She sees Varric frown now and Solas is chagrined, realizing just how far his mistakes had spread. But Hattie hasn’t told them where she came from for sympathy. She told them because it was easier than lying up a backstory Leliana could easily check out. It was easier than trying to be someone she’s not.

“I miss them, and I know they’ll always wonder what happened to me, but right now there’s something much more important going on. I can help Thedas, and I want to help.” Hattie curls her hands around her grandmother’s necklace. “I don’t know how helpful I’ll be, honestly, but if I can inspire even the littlest hope, if I can save even one life, I’ll do it.”

“You…” Cassandra trails, looking saddened. Then she seems to brush it away, expression clearing. Surety enters her spine, rallying herself, and Cassandra meets Hattie’s eyes. “You are more than we could have hoped for, Hattie. And I dare say you may just be the Herald everyone declares you to be, even if not of Andraste.”

Unused to praise of any sort, Hattie flounders for a response. “I don’t… I’m not…”

“Take the compliment, Sage.” Varric advises. “She doesn’t give them out lightly.”

“No,” Hattie agrees, pinking in the flamelight. “No, she doesn’t.”


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have over 45 chapters written, so here’s an early one to celebrate! Team bonding! (A lil) And planning!

The fighting is a mess. Both in blood and how there is no side. Everyone is just fighting everyone.

“Why not try and stop it?” Hattie asks when they take a break, because above all she is hopeful and she likes to look for the best in everyone. “Just, I don’t know, disarm everyone and make them listen?”

“It is not that easy, Herald.”

Cassandra has become easier on Hattie since the younger woman revealed her backstory. A world where she hadn’t been affected by war directly but still saw its effects, and wanted to help despite it putting herself in harms way. Willing to take up a sword because it had to be done or all was lost.

“Why?” Hattie asks and when Cassandra flounders, grins. She turns to Solas. “Is there a spell for binding people?”

Solas, put on the spot, folds his hands behind his back. “There is. Though not one you could learn so quickly, Herald.”

“But _you_ know it.”

Solas pauses. Her tone was the same one she used when talking to the Dread Wolf, not the kindly Apostate elf hobo. He nods slowly.

“I do, yes.”

She smiles. “Okay. Because I’m tired of this fighting bullshit. We’re doing this passive aggressively.”

Varric is grinning, slinging his crossbow onto his back. “Won’t hear me complaining, Sage.”

“Good.” Hattie sheaths her sword, beginning the trek back to their camp. “Let’s go plan instead of staying out here like sitting ducks.”

She’d been lucky enough to not kill anyone yet. Cassandra and Solas had been quick to do that in the fight, disarming mages and templars of their weapons and sending them to a quick grave. The best Hattie had done was startle them with a flaming sword and disarm them, Varric swooping in for the kill.

She was glad she hadn’t killed yet, but knew them protecting her wouldn’t last forever.

Her Companions follow at her back, relaxing the closer they are to camp. Hattie herself is focusing on plans. She’d never been good at planning long term, was a planster in NaNoWriMo terms. Could plan bits of the story but not all of it.

She could rely on her team to follow through, but the outliers of this were the people they were fighting. Not everyone would listen to her and come to their senses, and what did they do with them? They couldn’t jail them. And Hattie had no intention of allowing mages to be made Tranquil. It was fucked up and just like lobotomization.

“You are thinking too hard.”

Hattie startles at Solas’s words, realizes they’re back in camp and she’s been pacing in front of the map they have of the land. There are markers placed where Leliana’s scouts have found fighting to be the worst and needed to be dealt with quickly as well as strategic campsites. There were many fighting spots, in little clusters.

She stops pacing, looks at Solas. He stands there, watching her calmly. He tilts his head toward the edge of camp. “Walk with me. Let’s talk.”

Never good words from anyone, and probably especially not Solas. But she agrees and they exit camp, sure to stay close lest Cassandra begin to worry and come after them.

“What do you have in mind for dealing with the templars and mages?” Solas asks. “While I can bind them with magic, it will not hold forever at my current power. And if a templar has recently taken lyrium, they can break the spell. I imagine you want to talk to these people, and that will put you at risk depending on how angry they are and how close you stand to them.”

“You’ve definitely got more of a plan than me right now,” Hattie admits, watching his face sour. “I’ve been worried on what to do if they don’t listen.”

“Herald, you cannot make such grand decisions and have no immediate course of action.”

“I know. But also I literally worked in the equivalent of a pub up until three weeks ago. Gimme a minute to figure this shit out.”

“You—” Solas sighs, rubs the bridge of his nose. “Very well. Can you tell me _why_ you have made this decision? You tend to decide on a course of action without explanation. It makes it hard to follow, though we do.”

“I…” Hattie forgot she did that. She mulled over something silently and then did it, and as she lived alone she’d gotten used to doing so with no input from anyone. She was still doing that now. “So many people are already dead. I know it’s what's expected, to kill the rogue mages and templars, but… why? They’re scared, just like everyone else. We should help them like we do everyone else.”

He softens visibly. “Very well. Be sure to tell Cassandra this. She has become tense with your sudden changes in course, especially after your revelation.”

Hattie laughs weakly. “Comes with ADHD, I’m afraid. No way to fix it.” Hattie pats his arm. “I’ll try though. It’s the best I can do.”

“It is the best any of us can do,” Solas agrees.

They return to camp. Hattie removes her gloves and sits beside Cassandra, sharpening her sword and talking to Scout Harding. When they’ve finished speaking, Hattie talks.

“Cass, I should tell you why I think getting the mages and templars to listen is better than going in sword swinging.”

Cassandra returns her sword to its sheath and faces Hattie. “I am listening.”

“The Conclave already stole so many lives, including the Divine’s,” Hattie explains. “Taking more seems all it would do is make us people to be scared of. I want to be better than our enemy. To dispel the fear and stop the fighting, but I want it in a more peaceful way. Taking one life to cut corners is a slippery slope, Cass.”

“And if we are told no, if they refuse to lay down arms and work with us?”

Hattie closes her eyes. She doesn’t want to kill people. They shouldn’t have to. “Find another way. We _must_ find another way. So many are dead, Cass. _So many_.”

Cassandra scowls. “This will only make things harder for us.”

“I know.” Gods did Hattie know. They’d end up spending weeks here doing this, maybe, but if it saved lives and helped the Inquisition, why not? If it, hopefully, bolstered numbers and faith in the Inquisition, why not do this as peaceably as able? “But I can’t cut corners and cut human life down to numbers or obstacles. We are not monsters and they should not be our enemies. We might not know who our enemy is yet, but I know it isn’t the people here.”

Cassandra is quiet, watching Hattie. Her hands shake, her mouth tastes like sugar sweetness before throwing up, and her stomach aches, but this is a feeling she cannot let go of. That she _would not_ let go of. The game always boiled it down to being able to choose only one side, and that you could only kill the mages and templars instead of trying to reason with them. But why? It _said_ they couldn’t be reasoned with, but that wasn’t always true. Thedas was already so divided, she knows, so why not offer a solution to talk sense into them?

“Thedas is already divided.” Hattie continues. “We need to offer a solution to everyone, not just those already willing to listen.”

Cassandra sighs. “Fine. We shall start tomorrow.”

Hattie grins, and then throws her arms around Cassandra to hug her. The Seeker tenses, surprised, then slowly relaxes, putting her arms around Hattie.

“Your continued optimism is admirable,” Cassandra says quietly.

“I feel I missed something important for the book.”

Cassandra pulls away to scowl at Varric, who had come up from… somewhere. “Must you bring that up _now_?”

The two begin to squabble, Hattie watching them fondly. She closes her eyes, leaning back on her hands to breath easily.

Above her is a throaty _caw_ and one of Leliana’s ravens circles the camp. Hattie holds out her arm for the raven to land. Instead he drops into her lap, ruffling his feathers. A rolled scroll is attached to his leg, which he holds out with pompous indignation.

“You must be our Sir Didymus,” she murmurs, carefully untying the scroll from its place.

It’s from Naomi. It's a few exclamation points (Hattie winces at the waste of ink and parchment) and a tiny note, in the written language Hattie had made years ago on a whim and didn’t even remember fully. It takes her a moment to parse out the message. **_Bull is hearing about the Inquisition already! Also I put this in code bcs I figured you won't tell anyone about the dreams n shit. Also you better not be dead hoe._ **

Well Naomi was definitely going to murder her then.

Varric speaks up from the other side of Cassandra. “That’s one of Nightingale's ravens. What's it say Sage?”

“Nomes sent it actually,” Hattie rolls up the note, rubbing the raven’s head gently. It croaks at her touch, eyes closing as he presses into the touch. “Wanted to tell me she’s doing fine and I need to not AWOL her.”

“Awol?”

“‘Absent without official leave’. It’s a military term back home.” Hattie should find some paper and a quill to respond with, but doesn’t want the raven to leave. “It’s where you leave your post without telling anyone. Usually you come back, sometimes you don’t. Either way you’re in major trouble.”

“It would be beneficial to share this with Cullen and Leliana.” Cassandra remarks. “And any others you know.”

“I’m sure they have their own, Cass. For all you know, AWOL exists and you haven’t heard it yet.”

“And I’m sure it does not, Hattie.”

Hattie smiles at the use of her name. It made her feel closer to the Seeker. “Okay. I’ll tell them when we get back.”

Hattie gently urges the raven to move. “C’mon, dear heart, I need to reply to this.”

The raven does so with some ruffling of his feathers, moving to Cassandra’s lap who looks unsure of the corvid. Having expected Leliana’s ravens to be extremely serious, she is surprised by his attitude. Maybe the Nightingale chose this raven to ferry messages between Naomi and her purposefully?

Hattie heads to her bag, pulling out the journal and the ink and quill she’d procured from Varric. She writes out her response, taking a moment to recall the language she’d written. The fact Naomi remembered and she hadn’t was a little funny.

She lets the ink dry and rolls it up. She sits back down and ties the little note to the raven’s leg. He does a very good Cassandra Disgusted Noise™ imitation, prompting a noise of complaint from the Seeker. Hattie laughs, rubs the corvid’s head, and asks, “Could you be a dear and take that to Nomes? I’d appreciate it, dear heart.”

The raven puffs up with a happy caw and takes off. He circles the camp, calling a few times, and then heads back in the direction of Haven, disappearing over the tree tops.

“You seem to really like ravens,” Varric notes with a grin. “They like you too.”

“Ravens are symbols of prophecy and insight. And are connections between the physical and spirit world.” Hattie explains fondly. “And of ill omens and loss, though that's more modern. They’re also mischievous little bastards and I love them.”

“So they’re like you.”

Hattie pauses, thinking of how she was slowly becoming known as a prophet of sorts. And with her anchor… well… Varric isn’t wrong. She looks at her hand bearing the mark, reaching for her gloves. She hated looking at it and what it represented for her future. And she had been an ill omen and symbol of loss for the people of Thedas, however a short while.

“Yes.” She sighs, tugging the gloves into place. Varric’s grin fades and Cassandra gives him a dirty look. “Like me, I guess.”

She stands. “I’m going to check on whatever we need to find in the area, okay? You can find me,” she waves her hand at the map table, “there.”

“Hey, Hattie,” she pauses, glancing back at Varric, “you _can_ talk to us. If you need to.”

She smiles wanly. “I know. Thanks, Varric.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This entire fic is a lot of: Fuck the game options. Let’s do this MY way


	28. Chapter 28

Hattie curls against Cullen, leg slung across his hips, arm thrown lazily across his chest. He holds her to him, hand resting on her hip, nose tucked against her hair. They’d laid this way for some time, quiet and content to lay together.

“So,” Hattie exhales gently, knowing he was _not_ going to be for this at all, “we’re going to try reasoning with the mages and templars in the Hinterlands.”

Cullen scowls, hand on her hip tightening. “They cannot be reasoned with. Neither side will listen.”

“I kindly disagree. Some people can be.”

“Hattie, Leliana’s people have _tried_ and so have the Chantry. _They will not listen._ ”

Hattie knows this. But she won’t give up until she makes her own attempt. She sits up a little, just enough to look down at him, with his puckered brow and the unpleased snarl to his lip. She cups his cheek, sees the slight falter in his expression, and she kisses his brow, feeling the tension give way. Against his skin she murmurs, “I’m still going to try. If I fail, _then_ I’ll go the killing route. But there’s been too much death already, Cullen, I don’t want to add to it. If I’m to be this world’s Herald, I should bring unity not death.”

He sighs, the breath shaking out of him. He draws her down, both arms wrapping around her, one hand cradling the back of her neck.

“I would much rather you not do this…” He whispers against her hair. “So much loss and yet there is only to be more, I don’t want you to be among those numbers.”

“I won’t. I have Cass, Varric, and Solas.” _And plot armor_ , but he’d not get that and probably _still_ be upset at the joke. “They know what they’re doing, and are teaching me all they know.”

“That will not always be enough. One false move and—”

“Hey.” She sits up, shaking off his hold, to kiss him. Her forehead presses to his. “I got this, baby. I do.”

A long bout of silence, his eyes closed. Then, brokenly, he whispers, “I don’t want to lose you.”

She hates hearing him sound so scared. She’s probably the worst person for the job of Herald and future Inquisitor, and they both know it, but fuck it all if she wouldn’t try.

“Cullen Stanton Rutherford,” she says, and there’s a bit of humor in the way he tenses at the use of his full name (she had a Mom Voice™ sometimes okay?), “you will not lose me. I am glad you worry about me. I worry about you.”

He relaxes beneath her, opening his eyes to look at her. They are a bit red as if he was close to tears, bloodshot. She holds his face in her hands, unwilling to let him go. She kisses his nose before speaking.

“I will clear the Hinterlands by whatever peaceful means I have at my disposal,” she tells him in the same voice, “and woe betide whoever says no to me. They won’t be killed, but they will drop their weapons.” Her eyes gleam. “Not going to lie, it’ll be fun seeing people's reactions if I succeed. Cass and your’s in particular. Other you. He didn’t seem to like me much.”

“Then he’s a fool.”

She snorts. “Aren’t we all?”

“He in particular for not realizing how perfect you are.” She giggles, getting a smirk from him. “I _am_ correct.”

“Cullen,” she murmurs, smiling a little, “I’m pretty sure you’d not like me much if we’d just met and I was already campaigning to ask the mages for help.”

“I wouldn’t agree,” he concedes, “but would admire your resolve. You have quite a lot of it, both in and out of the bedroom.”

She laughs, leaning back so she doesn’t laugh in his face. Mirth flows through her, a fine counterpoint to the previous discussion’s tenseness, filling her with lightness. He follows her, sitting up.

He cups her cheek, watching her laughter turn to giggles, thumb running along the apple of her cheek. As her giggles begin to fade, seeing how intently he watches her, she asks, “What?”

“I love you.”

She grins, effervescent and soft. He kisses her, lips warm and damp. She returns it eagerly, placing her hand over his on her cheek. Their foreheads touch, noses brushing, breath mingling.

She can feel the tug of the waking world, the ocean tide pulling her away.

“I’ll be careful, I promise.” She gives him a brief peck, asking, “Do the same for me?”

“I will be careful,” he assures. “I’m mostly training recruits right now, honestly. The worst I would get are a few bruises. Maybe.”

“Good. I can kiss them better.” Another kiss with a gentle, “Good morning, dear,” and Hattie wakes up.


	29. Chapter 29

Hattie falls back out of the templar’s swing as Varric fires, striking the man’s hand and bolt going clean through. He drops the sword with a yell, Hattie kicking said sword far out of the way.

“Solas, now!”

Green magic wraps around the templar in three separate bars, binding his arms to his sides and knees stuck together, leaving him on his side, matching the two mages they’d already bound.

Hattie picks up the sword, holding it out to Cassandra who takes it with a noise of disgust at the amount of dried blood on it. Varric and Solas are helping the mages and templar sit up, Solas going so far as to heal the wound Varric’s arrow bolt had made. The templar struggles, face red under his helmet. One mage, elven, is sobbing, curling in on herself. The other is staring stonily at them, distrust clear in every rigid inch of his body.

Hattie, sword yet to be drawn today, smiles at the three. She sits to be level with them, bending one leg in a half criss-cross, other pointing out. She sits loosely, keeping herself open.

“Hi.”

“Go ahead and kill me!” The templar barks.

“We aren’t doing that.” Hattie says calmly. “There’s been enough death this past decade, especially the last few weeks.”

“Then what are you going to do?” The crying mage demands. “Make us Tranquil?”

“No, it’s a barbaric practice and I will have it banned, if able.” Hattie looks to the stony mage, ignoring Cassandra’s ‘you what?’. “Do you have something to add? Or are you working on breaking the bind?”

He doesn’t respond and so Hattie nods after a moment. “I’m the Herald of Andraste and I was asked to come speak with Mother Giselle here. And clear up the fighting in the Hinterlands. While my advisors recommend more… drastic means, I think talking is easier. I am offering you options, and none of them are death _or_ Tranquility, and depending on your choice you either leave here in chains or are free to walk.”

The silent mage scoffs, but the crying one is quieting. Hattie’s smile does not dim from her face, waiting for one of them to talk.

“What are you going to do to us?”

She looks to the templar when he speaks. Hattie can’t see his face so sits up, getting her legs under her. Cassandra makes an aborted attempt to grab her, stopped by Solas settling a hand on the Seeker’s shoulder and Varric holding out an arm. Hattie grasps the helmet in both hands, pulling it off.

The man underneath is unkempt, dark hair stuck up in places and knotted in others, eyes bloodshot. His skin is sallow, gaunt, and she wonders if this is what lyrium withdrawal without people to help looks like. She sets the helmet down at her side.

“You have three options, sir.” She holds up three fingers in the Girl Scout salute, dropping a finger with each choice spoken, “Join the Inquisition, walk away without your armor and weapons to start over, or go to our dungeons if you want to keep slaughtering frightened mages and innocents caught in the crossfire. We’ll have our Commander decide what to do with you then.” She shrugs. “If you join us, I’m willing to listen to whatever troubles you’re having with the lyrium withdrawal once I’m back in Haven.”

“That’s it?” He demands. “That’s all?”

“Yes.” Hattie spreads her arms in a ‘what can you do fashion?’ “The Inquisition will not stand for killing anyone, sir. And if you’re looking for people to condone killing scared mages, you’ve ended up in the wrong story, I’m afraid.”

“And us?” The quiet mage asks. “Just Inquisition or jail?”

“Nope.” Hattie smiles widely at him. She sees him falter. “You have four options. Join the Inquisition as a healer or a warrior, go to Haven for safety, or jail. Again, we don’t condone killing. We are here to stop the fighting and ease tensions, peacefully.”

“What about after?”

“Well, I’m not sure about the rest of the people I’m working with,” Hattie says, “but I think Circles are outdated, both in treatment and teaching. Schools are better. You go to learn, and then you can leave. Have a life.”

The frightened mage says, “Yes.”

Hattie focuses on her. “What’s your name, madam?”

Watery brown eyes meet hers, and the mage stutters out, “Leora.”

“Well, Leora, yes to which option?”

“I’ll go to Haven. I’ll be a healer.”

Hattie looks to Solas. “Could you…?”

He frowns, but nods, and the green bindings fade away from Leora. The mage seems surprised, looking at her now free hands. Hattie takes one hand, cradling the soft fingers in hers. “We aren’t far from the Chantry building, Leora. I’d like you to approach Scout Harding and inform her the Herald sent you. No one will attack you. I swear it.”

She looks at the mage and templar. “Would either of you join her on the trip?”

Quiet for a long moment and then the quiet mage speaks, “My name is Grant. I’ll go.” He swallows. “I’ll be a soldier.”

Hattie grins. “That’s awesome, Grant. We’d love to have you and Leora. Solas?”

He sighs from behind her, but the bindings fade. Slowly, as if still wary of them, Grant checks himself over. “You… truly mean what you say?”

Hattie nods. “Dude, I’m a mage myself. I’m new to the whole thing but Circles sound fucking atrocious. I went to a school that taught me to read, write, math, all the good stuff, _and_ equality and understanding of what I fear. That's what this place needs. Understanding.”

She leans around a weepy Leora, a little mirthful at Grant’s hopeful confusion, and asks the templar, “What about you?” He grinds his teeth, not speaking. “C’mon. The Inquisition is cool!”

“It’s a farce!” He spits at her feet, spittle hitting her shoe. “The Chantry is right to call you heretics.”

“Well…” Hattie is a little wounded she couldn’t get them all to agree. She stands, helping Leora up. She holds out a hand to Grant but he declines. “No skin off my bones. I’m a heretic back home too. But I’d rather be a heretic than a murderer.”

She takes the cuffs she kept hidden under her cloak and binds his wrists together. The man spits in her face. She jerked back in surprise.

Varric and Cassandra shout at him, but Hattie raises her hand. The very strong urge to kick the fuck out of this man rises as she wipes the sticky, warm spit away, along with whatever sympathy she had. He looks extremely satisfied.

And she realizes she said they’d choose the most peaceful route. Passive aggressively. Hattie never said she couldn’t hit someone for starting shit with her.

“I hope you understand you are the _definition_ of a dickwad,” she informs him and then, with much relish, backhands him. A man with at least ninety pounds on her and a good head taller than her. The leather against his cheek is a sharp crack of sound, and the force behind her momentum turns his head to the side.

Leora gasps, covering her mouth. Grant starts laughing while Varric halfheartedly covers his. Cassandra, scandalized, says, “ _Herald!_ ” Hattie bet anything Solas was smirking, if a bit reproachfully.

“Cass,” Hattie hauls the man up roughly even as he struggles and shouts, shoves him toward camp, “I said we’d do this peacefully. Never said anything about not finishing what they start. Now let's go strip this bastard of his armor.”


	30. Chapter 30

The issue with taking him to camp was that camp wasn’t suited for housing someone hellbent on not being peaceful. So they had to take him to the Chantry for transport. Which would be great and all…

If Hattie had spoken to Mother Giselle already.

She’d sort of gone flying into business mode on shutting rifts and stopping rogue mages and templars. Which translated to pretty much avoiding Mother Giselle. Upside was these weren’t the first people she’d sent to the Chantry to be sent to Haven. It was just the first time she’d had someone say no and need to be jailed.

Cassandra had been urging her to approach but Hattie had put it off. “I want the Hinterlands safe first,” she’d explained, to the Seeker’s frustration. “I want proof that we’ve been doing something worth caring about.”

“You need not prove yourself to have worth,” Cassandra responded with the seriousness of a heart attack, though that seemed to be Cassandra’s default setting when talking to someone she deemed important.

And the thing is Hattie _knows_ that. She knows she doesn’t have to prove her worth usually, has struggled for years with the feeling she must prove herself before having friendship or asking for something. But it doesn’t stop her from falling back on old habits when feeling unsure or insecure. And as Herald she had to fall into those habits.

So long as she didn’t let them control her, anyway.

She hands the pissy man off to a scout with a tired smile. He seems surprised to see her, and also surprised by the giant man she’d frog marched into the area, her companions close behind but allowing her to handle it.

“Sorry to bother you. This gentleman here decided to say no to dropping his weapons.”

“Really?” The scout blinks owlishly at her and then him with a big red mark on his cheek that was sure to bruise. The scout clears his throat. “Uhm, so… we don’t have a cage or nothing to put him in.”

“I’m well aware.”

The man, seething quiet rage until now, hisses, “She’s a demon given corporeal form. Don’t listen to her!”

Hattie rolls her eyes. “Yeah, sure. That’s why I asked you to stop being a dick. ‘Cos I’m a _demon_.” She gives the scout a tired look. “If you could be a dear and keep him in one of the Chantry store rooms, that’d be great.”

“Of, of course, ma’am,” the scout tugs on the man’s bindings. “Follow along.”

“You’re a heretic!” He shouts as he’s led away. “All of you are for listening to her! No true Herald would allow mages to walk free! She must be a demon!”

Hattie watches him be led away, angry at his outburst and the way people milling around and working, had slowed to watch him. But she takes a deep breath, letting it out with a gust of air, ignoring the looks.

“He needs counseling,” she says. “I refuse to believe someone can be that far gone in their own hatred. The lyrium withdrawal causes nightmares so he must be low on sleep. If I’m a demon, Varric is the Dread Wolf.”

Solas shakes his head, a slight tug of mirth at his lips because they both knew who _that_ was. “Do not make excuses for him.”

“I’m not making excuses. I don’t make excuses for people who think the military is a great job.” Hattie rubs her cheeks. “He’s the first Templar we’ve come across who’s acted that way, though. The others have been reasonable. And not as far off the wagon.”

No longer looking at the man, no longer having someone to focus her anger at, all she could think of was how hungry he must be. And probably cold. And extremely tired. Lost and scared just like everyone else, lashing out because he didn’t know what else to do. She checks to make sure her coin purse is on her person and says, “I’ll be right back, make sure Leora and Grant get where they need to be.”

“Wait, I’ll come with!” Varric calls. “Seeker and Chuckles can handle that.”

“Varric you don’t have to.”

“I want to, Sage.” He shrugs. “And I know what you’re doin’.”

Hattie raises her eyebrows. “Oh do you now? What am I doing?”

“You’re going to see if you can get him some food and blankets. And then try talking to him after he’s had some rest.”

Hattie looks away from him, puffing out her cheeks. “Okay, fine. You got me. Think I shouldn’t do it?”

“No, no, I’m not disagreeing,” he assures, crossing his arms in a far too satisfied manner. “Just thinking you’re really optimistic. We’ve had a lot of people agree to join the Inquisition or go to Haven to get a job, but, well,” he frowns now, voice softening, “not everyone is going to want to help or move along, Sage, and you might need to accept that.”

“I have.” She stops at a stall, buying a loaf of bread and some stew. She thanks the stall owner and continues on her way, looking for bed supplies. She didn’t want to take whatever they had to spare, knowing he might purposefully soil them and it was hard to clean things to her satisfaction here. “And I know he won’t change his mind but I’d like to help.” She slows down. Varric does too, watching her intently, curiously. “I shouldn’t have smacked him no matter how angry he made me. I want to do this peacefully, and that means I shouldn’t give in to any pettiness I feel. Especially when its towards someone not even in their right mind.”

Hattie would rub her cheeks if she could, instead settling for chewing on the inside of her cheek. “I need to apologize, and he needs help, and doing that in front of others doesn’t feel genuine. Feels like a show.”

Varric watches her, concern more evident than it had been moments ago. “You’re a good kid, Hattie.”

Hattie huffs out a laugh, shaking her head. “I don’t feel like one. I’ve been told that so many times but… what kind of good person imagines hitting someone, Varric? Or even follows through on it?”

“Someone who’s human.”

He pats her shoulder. “C’mon. Let’s find him some blankets.”

Hattie manages a small smile, following after the dwarf.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And finally we see Mother Giselle!

Hattie nods to the guards. One opens the door and she steps in. The room is dark, oppressive even, and very cold. The man is curled in the corner, shivering, and Hattie feels even more wretched for how she’d acted.

She sets down the food, careful to not slosh the stew, and sets the bread lengthwise over the top. She proceeds to shake out the blankets, laying one down with the pillow on it as a makeshift cot. It wouldn’t stop the floor from being hard stone, but would relieve some of the cold.

“Come to kill me now that no one’s watching?” He demands through clenched teeth.

“No.”

Hattie focuses hard and, after a weak sputter, a tiny ball of light appears, moving to the ceiling to help illuminate the room. The guard closes the door, sealing them away. Being as small as she was, the man could easily overpower her, could probably snap her neck with zero trouble. But he doesn’t move, watching her with nothing but distrust.

“I’m sorry.” She says. “I shouldn’t have hit you. It was out of line.”

He scowls at her. “You don’t fucking mean it.”

“I do.” Hattie shakes the other blanket at him. “I imagine lyrium withdrawal hasn’t been kind to you. You need help, not hatred, right now. And I can see you shivering. Please take the blanket.”

“I ain’t taking nothing from a fucking demon.”

Hattie closes her eyes, tells herself to not give in to her rising agitation. What was it with this man and demons? What was with this world and demons, even before the Breach? She got they were dangerous, but come on. But she takes a deep breath, she has to, and sits down.

“Look. I get demons are dangerous, I really do. I’ve been fighting them and closing rifts this past week like I’m going for the Olympic gold medal. And I can swear to you I’m not one. What would my motivation be? I’m clearly not a rage demon, or, I dunno, what others are there? Fear? What am I doing that would encourage you, besides that slap? And I get I won’t be able to convince you. That’s fine. But I’m able to tell you and that’s enough.” Hattie tosses the blanket, watches him flinch as it lands at his feet and feels simultaneously glad and upset. “Please don’t let your hatred allow you to freeze to death, sir. I’ll make sure they bring you warm meals until you leave for Haven.”

She stands, brushing off her skirt. “Again, I’m sorry for striking you. That was out of line. I shouldn’t preach peace and then bring violence upon others.”

She raps on the door and the guard opens it to let her out.

“Adrian.”

Hattie pauses at the man’s voice, less hostile but no less guarded. She turns partially to see him, giving a tiny smile. He’s wrapping the blanket around himself, burrowing into it, eyeing the food speculatively. But his distrust it still clear. “My name is Adrian...demon.”

She nods, takes it as a win, and exits.

Right into Mother Giselle.

Hattie tenses up, face pinking in embarrassment. The Mother eyed her curiously, looking over Hattie’s steadily dirtying clothing, her messy black hair, her gloved fingers, taking in who the mysterious Herald was.

“Uhm…” Hattie can’t think of anything to say. She gives a hasty bow. “Hello, Mother Giselle.”

“Please, no need for such formalities,” the Holy Mother bids. “Walk with me.”

“Ah, uhm,” Hattie flounders. “If you could give me just a moment?”

The Mother’s eyebrows raise, but she nods, watching at Hattie turns to the guards and pulls out a few silver pieces and handing them to one. “If you could make sure to bring some candles for Adrian? Leaving him in the dark will only worsen his condition.”

The guard nods. “Of course, Herald.”

He heads back up the stairs into the light of the day and Hattie turns to Mother Giselle. “We can talk now.”

The two make their way up the stairs, out of the Chantry doors to the sick and infirm being helped by various nuns and mages. There were templars too, no longer in armor, helping carry the injured or sick to be bathed or on a walk, some awkward and unsure without direction and others tensed to be so close to mages using their magic freely, but helping nonetheless.

Baby steps, Hattie thinks proudly, but baby steps that are working.

“I must admit, I was unsure of what to expect upon hearing the one people are calling the ‘Herald of Andraste’ had arrived but, instead of coming to talk to me, had instead begun speaking to apostates and ex-templars and helping surrounding homes.”

Hattie ducks her head, flushing. “Forgive me. I had heard the fighting was terrible and was eager to settle tensions to the best of my abilities first. I did not want anyone else caught in the crossfire.”

Mother Giselle smiles, a strange mix of her grandmother’s gentleness and her mother’s indulgence.

“You have been doing an admirable job.” Mother Giselle tells her. “While fighting still encumbers the land, it has begun to ease. We have seen many apostates and ex-templars coming of their own free will, mostly apostates. The idea of being allowed their freedom without persecution is a strong draw for them.” She pauses, gently, as if explaining that Hattie’s pet cat had ‘run away’ instead of died. “This also means you will have more people to oppose what you are trying to do.”

“I know.” The idea isn’t pleasant but she’s sticking to her guns this time. She’s in a position to help and gods help anyone in her way. “But I won’t let that stop me or change my mind.”

Mother Giselle smiles. “I will not lie to you. I am familiar with those involved in your denouncement. Some are grandstanding, hoping to increase their chances at becoming the new Divine. Some are simply terrified. So many good people senselessly taken from us, which you know very well.”

Hattie nods. “Yes. The Chantry…”

“With no Divine, we are left to our own conscious. And mine tells me this; convince the remaining Clerics you are no demon. They have heard only frightful tales of you, though what you are doing here is already spreading and will help.”

“They don’t seem the type to change their minds so easily,” Hattie points out, because it was true. She’d seen the same plenty back home with politicians and religious figures.

Mother Giselle hums. “Let me put it this way: you do not need to fully convince them. You need some doubt. Take away the unified voice and you will have the time you need.”

Marveling at just how… underhanded… Mother Giselle seems capable of being, Hattie manages a quiet, “Thank you. For this.”

“I honestly do not know if you were touched by fate or sent to help us,” Mother Giselle adds, “but I hope. Hope is what we need now. The people will listen to your rallying call. They will listen to no other. You could build the Inquisition into a force that could deliver us… or destroy us.”

A cold tingle makes its way down Hattie’s spine. She already knew the power the Inquisition, and the eventual Inquisitor, held, but hearing it from Mother Giselle seemed to make that fact real. She cannot find words to give the Mother, but she needn’t. The Mother reaches out, smoothing a hand along Hattie’s bare arm with a grandmother’s gentleness, soothing tension there.

“I shall go to Haven and provide Sister Leliana with a list of the people in the Chantry who will be amenable to a gathering.” She begins to walk away. “It is not much, but I will do whatever I can.”

Hattie watches her go and, throat stuffed with emotions, whispers, “Thank you.”


	32. Chapter 32

They spend a day focused on Rifts. Hattie hates it, the feeling of her muscles spasming and contracting in pain, of the way the Fade fights her and bites back, snarling. She can feel her energy draining in large bouts, as if the Anchor took large gulps of her being and swallowed it without remorse. But she keeps going anyway, because she must.

Hattie must be a voice of hope and calm and she will be it, even if she only has her Companions to see her.

She can’t keep it up forever though. Eventually she becomes shaky, like she hadn’t eaten or drank anything it at least 48 hours. She knew the feeling well, remembers once secluding herself in her bedroom for days and her aunt only able to give her water and crackers because Hattie didn’t feel able to each much else. She remembers watching her clock tick time by, and she unable to stop it, to get up and do things, to be the normal her family wanted. She had always been normal, but the kind of normal that needed medication and her non-depression filled family to be understanding.

She rasps in breath, lungs caught in tight bindings. She knew this too, having taken soccer for years and struggled to breath during matches. She had learned to keep going even as her vision blinked with black spots, knew how to steady her steps and pretend it was fine. Naomi would scold her, make her sit and breath in and out slowly, carefully, in counts of five. Her Companions, her still new to them even if they weren’t new to her, ask if she’s okay but don’t push beyond that.

They stop for an early lunch, hidden in a little alcove, not too far from a nearby Rift but Solas pushing that they should stop and eat. Varric agrees wholeheartedly and Cassandra too. Hattie agrees last, careful to keep the tiredness from her voice and make it full of air.

She does the breathing exercises as discreetly as able, gathering wood and keeping her mind on the surrounding woods.

“You needn’t push yourself.”

Hattie startles, turns to Solas who stands nearby. He looks disapproving. And very tired, guilty even.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Hattie crouches to grab more wood, calm as can be to her typically loud and Move The Fuck Out Of My Way attitude.

“You have asthma,” Solas accuses, and she falters a little. “And have been shaking with exhaustion for the last two hours, claiming it was hunger.”

“Because I am,” Hattie argues, standing to face him. “I’m not lying.”

“Da’len, you may be good at lying to others, but you cannot lie to me.” He closes in, reaching out to her neck. She flinches and his terse visage gentles. “I am checking your pulse.”

“You can’t use my wrist?”

He looks pointedly at her gloves. She begrudgingly removes them, allowing him to feel her erratic pulse. “As I suspected.”

Hattie grumbles when he lets go, muttering, “Not like you couldn’t _hear_ it.”

“I heard your rasping, yes, but I am not omnipotent. Simply immortal.” Solas explains. “You have a very distinctive rattle when trying to even your breathing. I believe Lady Cassandra may have also noticed, as she is closest to you during battle.”

Oh no. That was worse than Solas or Varric noticing. Cassandra had become very protective of her, especially after Adrian spit in her face. It's why they were focusing on Rifts today, the Seeker hadn’t wanted Hattie handling any other humans until she’d had some more practice.

 _“When we return to Haven,”_ Cassandra had told her, _“I shall see if Cullen is amenable to teaching you as well. He will know better offensive techniques.”_

“Oh Dagda grant me mercy,” Hattie says, then to Solas, “Please don’t confirm her suspicions.”

“I must.”

She groans. “What can I do to convince you not to?”

He quirks a brow. “You cannot.”

“Oh you bastard,” she hisses, watching him smirk. “That’s just cruel.”

“Yes, I suppose so.” He takes the wood she’d gathered and heads back for camp. “Come. Lunch won’t cook itself, da’len.”

She grumbles some more and then, mockingly, says, “Yes, hahren.”

Solas’s steps do not falter, but she can feel the odd hesitation, the crackle of wonder. “I do not recall telling you that.”

“You didn’t.”

“Another gift of yours?”

He slows to walk beside her, and she glances at him. “Yes.”

He nods, contemplative, then asks, in a way that hinted at hopeful but not quite. “Would you like to learn?”

“You’d teach a human your beautiful, dying language?” She doesn’t believe him in the slightest. He was way too much of a purist.

“Yes. You already know what I am.”

“Who.” At his look of confusion she explains. “I know who you are, wolf boy, and vaguely of what you’ve done. You aren’t a monster and history didn’t do you favors. For me, it’s what you _will_ do that matters. You haven’t done it yet so I’m not too worried.”

“And what will I do that worries you so?”

Hattie stops walking, turning to face him. She tilts her head just a fraction, making sure she has his full attention. She could lie, could brush it off as a ‘feeling’ but no. She wanted him to know she knew.

“How many more lives will you take besides Felassan’s and mine to achieve your goals?”

All form of good humor is gone from his face. When there is no response, she nods, turns, and heads back to camp alone. Before getting too far, she adds, “I’ll learn only what you’re willing to teach me, Solas.”


	33. Chapter 33

Solas tells Varric and Cassandra about her asthma and over-exhaustion as soon as he enters camp. Cassandra is livid, saying they’d set up camp where they were for the night and be having words after Hattie has eaten and rested. Varric looks at her with disappointment, shaking his head. And she sits there, angry at Solas and feeling very much like a scolded child instead of the twenty-two year old, very capable woman she is.

“It’s for the best, da’len,” Solas says, stirring the thick porridge-like soup.

She wants to cross her arms and glare at him, but knows she’d just feel more like a kid if she did. So instead she huffs and says, “No, it isn’t. We still have a lot to do here. We can’t waste an afternoon doing nothing, that’s wasting resources we don’t have.”

“We have enough to make sure you are well rested. Going at the pace you want will only lead to burning yourself out, and likely worse, in the long run.”

Her hands curl into the warm cotton of her dress, turning her eyes away from him. She is glad Varric has disappeared to hunt for their dinner and Cassandra has gone to fetch more wood, leaving Solas to babysit her, for it allows her to say, “You only need me alive to fix your mess.”

She sees his muscles tense, grip on the spoon sharpening. A vein pulses in his jaw. Then he eases. “That is not the only reason.”

“Harellan.”

This time he stays tense, teeth gritted. She’s struck a nerve and she’s glad to have done so. She grabs a log and pushes it onto the fire as she waits for his response, watching ashes flurry out like powdered snow carried by the wind, tiny sparks escaping towards the sky as tiny pixies. The smoke shifts with the wind, blowing towards her, and she thinks of late night bonfires, of her grandmother’s soft and creaky voice saying, _“Smoke follows beauty.”_

“Do not inhale the smoke. It is bad for you.”

“My asthma isn’t that bad, harellan. I’ve lived around fire my entire life.”

Solas exhales sharply through his nose. “That is likely why your lungs are weak.”

“No.” She thinks of cigarettes lit indoors, of her mother burning through one, sometimes two, packs a day depending on her stress, of the pale blue and white case of Misty Blue 120’s, the way the acrid stench burned a hole in Hattie chest that could never be fixed, not even by magic. The possibility of a nicotine headache here is negligible, but sometimes the memory would strike and she’d wish for a nap, to sleep off the memory of her mother using an oxygen machine and still insisting she smoke. To forget the way her childhood home smelt with no air conditioning, and how she nearly had to go to the hospital because the stench seemed to seep out the walls and crawl inside her lungs as they cleaned it out to be torn apart. It wasn’t a bonfire that caused this, it was her mother’s stupidity, and then her father’s when ten years cigarette free (he’d quit when he found out mom was pregnant with her, cold turkey) went down the drain, and finally her brother’s sanity too. “Fire didn’t cause this.”

Her voice is distant, and she feels separate from herself. All anger, all need to be obstinate and cruel, at Solas is gone, leaving just her and the ache in her hand and how utterly tired she was, down into the marrow of her bones.

Her childhood had a habit of doing that, especially when trying to reconcile the parents she loved with the mistakes they've made.

She stands, finds she isn’t as steady as she’d been all day, and says quietly, not looking at Solas, “I am going to lay down. Wake me when lunch is ready.”

Hattie goes to the tent she shares with Cassandra, wraps her cloak fully around herself, and curls under her blanket. She does not sleep, much as she tries, mind too stuffed with things she didn’t want to deal with. Eventually she hears Cassandra’s stomping back into camp, hears her setting down the wood and conversing quietly with Solas. Doubtlessly about her and her state, and Solas is doubtlessly truthful.

Then Varric returns, saying something not kid friendly about bears and where they can shove their aggression, but also triumphant about whatever he’d brought back. She doesn’t catch what he said he’d killed, because Cassandra shushes him.

There is more talking, a quiet susurrus she cannot glean anything from. Against all odds, she feels safe knowing they are there, even if they are upset with her and the feeling is mutual. Usually, that breaks whatever safety she’s found with a person, her trust hard to earn and harder to keep when you’ve gotten used to people promising to protect you and changing their minds on a dime.

She presses her face into her hood, throat swelling with a weird mix of pain, anger, and comfort, and begins to cry, a quiet, muffled sobbing she knows they hear.

Blessedly no one checks on her.


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strange times we live in huh?

“Your world has stories, right?”

The sun is setting. The world is golden and cooling off. The glow of the fire keeps back the darkening woods, the possibility of any dangers lurking in them. They’re eating, of all things, nugs. If it wasn’t for the hands, without their heads, she’d have assumed they were naked mole rats or guinea pigs.

And, true to form, like her dad always said about rodents: they taste like chicken. Unseasoned chicken, yes, and it's absolutely horrifying, but it is chicken. She wants to curl up and die after realizing why it tasted familiar, but Cassandra would carry her back to Haven if she didn’t eat all the food the Seeker handed her.

Cassandra’s ire had eased after Hattie had revealed herself from the tent, face still splotched from tears, but refusing to show anything other than a brave front. It didn’t mean the Seeker still wasn't mad, it just meant she’d realized there may be more going on than the Herald liked to say. Hattie had apologized to her Companions, bitten back any ‘but’s she had, and for good measure given Cassandra and Varric a pat on the shoulder each. It wasn’t the hug she usually gave after an apology, but for now it would do. It had to.

And now the evening had come, them all settled around the fire.

And Varric had asked her for a story.

Hattie had plenty. She had owned too many books to count back home, and several collections of short stories from Poe, Anderson, and even the Grimm Brothers. She even owned a fair few manga, not that she could translate them as well to something verbal.

“Of course.” Hattie twists the bone she held in her hands, thinking of all the stories she could tell, watching Varric’s interest grow. “We have… a lot. It’s easy to share the written word when it doesn’t need to be done by hand anymore.”

Varric’s eyes light up further, leaning just a little towards the fire, closer to her where she sat opposite the blaze to him. “Have any favorites?”

Hattie cannot stop her smile, or her laugh. “I have a lot of favorites, actually. Fairytales, folk tales, short stories, myths, legends, entire book series. You’ll need to narrow it down a little.”

“A short one, then, a fairytale or folk tale. They can reveal a lot about a person.”

Hattie thinks for a moment. There was East o’ the Sun, West o’ the Moon, or Cinderella, or Beauty and the Beast, even Red Riding Hood. The Frog Prince, the Seven Ravens… she had too many to choose from.

Something must give her away, for Varric, laughingly, adds, “One with an animal?”

“Oh, that doesn’t help.”

“What about large animals?”

Hattie sits up, setting aside her food. The other two are leaning in now, interest clear. All of them were book nerds, no one could say otherwise after tonight. “You have two choices then; East o’ the Sun, West o’ the Moon with an ice bear, or Red Riding Hood with a wolf.”

Varric makes a face. “I’ve had my fill of bears for the day.”

“Wolf it is.” She sits back, deciding whether to tell the Russian one with the Bzou or the normal wolf one. “Well, it’s a weird one, all allegory and such. Also cautionary.”

“Do not explain the story,” Cassandra says, “ _tell_ us the story.”

Hattie laughs. “Okay, fine, fine.” She clears her throat.

“Once Upon A Time, there lived a lovely young girl dearly beloved by her mother and grandmother. Her grandmother loved her granddaughter so much, she made her a beautiful red cloak, and everywhere she went everyone said, ‘Ah, there goes Little Red Riding Hood.’

“One day, Little Red’s grandmother fell terribly ill, and so Little Red’s mother baked some bread and churned some butter, asking her daughter to take it through the woods to grandmother’s house, where it sat on the edge of the village. Little Red, dutiful, agreed, and before she left her mother warned her, ‘Do not stop to talk to any strangers on the way. No matter how kind or pretty they may be, nevermind. The sweetest tongue has sharpest tooth.’ And Little Red promised not to and left.

“As Little Red made her way down the well worn path, she came upon a wolf who hadn’t eaten for several days and was very hungry. He implored she come close and, seeing as he was too weak to kill her if she ran, she did, careful to stay on the path. The wolf asked where she was going, what she had in the basket, and if he could come with.”

Solas makes a tsk’ing noise and Cassandra shushes him quickly. He gives the Seeker a flat look and she glares back. Varric, ignores them, saying, “What did she do then?”

“Little Red, forgetting what her mother had told her, answered him. ‘I am taking bread and butter to my grandmother, who is ill.’ And the wolf, seeing an opportunity, implores further, ‘And where does she live? I can bring her something as well.’ Little Red, not knowing any better, tells him where her grandmother lives. He thanks her and disappears into the woods, leaving Little Red to continue her trip.

“As Little Red continued to stop and admire the forest, even picking flowers to bring her grandmother, the wolf presently arrived at the grandmother’s home. He knocks, tok tok, and calls through in Little Red’s voice, ‘It is me, Little Red! I bring a present from my mother!’

“The kindly old woman tells him to pull the peg and the latch will fall. He does so and, upon the door opening, springs on the old woman and kills her. He gobbles her up— flesh, blood, and bone. Then he dons the old woman’s cap and shawl and hides in the bed, blanket pulled over his snout.”

“He is going to kill the girl.”

Cassandra and Solas shush Varric as Hattie laughs. “Well, he’s not interested in fucking her. That’s a whole different version, though this one’s pretty close.”

All three stare at her with wide eyes. She grins, hardly holding in her giggles. “I tried to tell you guys. The color red was once associated with sin and passion and for menustration, the wolf is male...”

“I still want to hear the rest of the tale!” Cassandra huffs. “Finish it!”

“Okay, okay. So, where was I? Ah!” Hattie snaps her fingers. “Eventually, Little Red arrives at her grandmother’s and knocks, tok tok!, and calls through, ‘It is me, Little Red! I bring a present from my mother!’ and the wolf bids she pull the peg and enter. Little Red does so, and the wolf says in her kindly grandmother’s voice, ‘You must be tired, my child. Please, climb into bed with your grandmother and rest a while.”

She clears her throat and takes care to change her voice between Little Red and the wolf.

“Little Red agrees and begins to strip. ‘Where do I lay my stockings, grandmother?’

‘Throw them on the fire, my child, for you won’t need them anymore.’

‘Where do I lay my skirts, grandmother?’

‘Throw them on the fire, my child, for you won’t need them anymore.’

‘Where shall I lay my bodice, grandmother?’

Throw it on the fire, my child, for you won’t need it anymore.’

And finally Little Red asked, ‘Where do I lay my cloak, grandmother?’

And the wolf, unknowing of its importance, said, ‘Throw it on the fire, my child, for you won’t need it anymore.’ And Little Red knew the creature in her bed was not her grandmother. But Little Red was clever and said, ‘Grandmother, I must go and relieve myself.’

‘Do it in the bed, my child.’

‘I cannot. I must go outside.’

“After a moment, the wolf says, ‘Then go outside. But mind that you come back quick. I’ll tie your ankle with a woolen thread so I know just where you are.’ He ties her ankle with a sturdy thread but as soon as she is outside, Little Red cuts the thread with the sewing scissors in her cloak and ties it to a plum tree. The wolf, growing impatient, calls, ‘What, have you finished yet, my child?’ When no one answers, he tries again, ‘Are you watering the grass or feeding the tree?’ No answer. He leaps from bed, follows the thread, and finds her gone.

“The wolf gives chase and soon Little Red can hear him on the path just behind her. She runs and runs until she comes across a river, swift and deep. A few laundresses work on the bank. She begs them for help across and explains her flight and they spread a sheet over the water, holding tight to its ends. She crosses the bridge of cloth and soon she’s safe on the other side.

“Now the wolf reaches the river, and he entreats the women help him cross. They spread a sheet over the water—but as soon as he is half way across, the laundresses let go. The wolf falls into the water. And drowns.”

She sits back, satisfied. Her Companions sit, processing.

“An appropriate allegory,” Solas settles on. “My only query, why a wolf?”

“What other large predator would you expect to find in a forest?” Hattie asks. “And wolves have a lot of different meanings on Earth. They’re symbols of guardianship, loyalty, of ritual and the spirit. They teach a person to trust their hearts and mind, to have control over our own life. But many also look upon them cautiously, because they’re wild, untamed. You can befriend them, but they won’t always be safe.”

She tries her best to not stare at Solas when she says this. As a kid, she’d always wanted wild animals as pets. A fox, wolf, lion, bear, didn’t matter. When she’d gotten older she’d accepted they were too dangerous to have as pets, but as a friend? That was possible. She’d written stories about it, read tons of fantasy books where that was essentially what was going on.

Solas wasn’t a true wolf, but he embodied a lot of what they stood for. Both for good and ill. And she knew that in the end he would betray her, much as he may deny it she knew.

“Seems to be a universal thought.” Varric murmurs.

“It was… good.” Cassandra says. “Not what I expected. Do you have any others?”

“Romantic ones?” Hattie asks knowingly, uptick at the corner of her mouth.

“No! Just… more hopeful ones.”

“Yes.” Hattie says. “I’ll do the ice bear one. This one has a cursed prince, a castle, the Four Winds, and a gentle young woman.”

“Already sounds interesting,” Varric crosses his arms.

“It’s my favorite fairy tale,” Hattie reveals. “I heard it as a little girl and I’ve loved it ever since.”

“Thank you for sharing it with us,” Cassandra says.

Hattie nods. Her stomach flutters. She didn’t tell the story often, and she’s never going to tell them she used to dream that a polar bear would come and sweep her away to become his princess. It was juvenile and she’d put it away with all her stuffed animals and Disney coloring books.

“Once Upon A Time, there lived a poor woodcutter with his wife and three beautiful daughters. One day, he went out to cut wood for the coming winter. As he searched the woods for a good tree, he came upon a large, hungry ice bear. The woodcutter begged not for his life, only that the ice bear spare him so his wife and daughters would last one more winter. The ice bear paused in his advances and said, ‘I shall spare you and your family if you do but one thing, for which I will give you unimaginable wealth for.’ The woodcutter, sure it could be anything that wouldn’t threaten his family, says, ‘Anything, sir.’ And the ice bear says, ‘Give me your youngest daughter for a wife.’”

She can see Cassandra gasp, Varric’s interest growing. She watches Solas’s eyebrows raise, still listening intently. It makes her wonder what sort of fairytales this world has, that hearing a polar bear demand a woodcutter’s daughter as his wife is a shock.

She grins. “The poor woodcutter falls to his knees, begging for anything but the hand of any of his daughters. The ice bear declares that he will give the woodcutter three days, and will only leave if the daughter tells him no. ‘You can have your life, woodcutter, but you will not have it much longer.’ And then he leaves. The poor woodcutter returns to his home, to explain what happened and assure his family he has it all under control...”


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. Life is pretty hectic so I am taking a four week break. I’ve hit a wall and am getting low on back up chapters and want to work on them without pressure. My other active fic is also going to be on hiatus during this time. I’ll see you in four weeks, and I’ll leave you with some smut to tide you over.

“I’ve been thinking what it would be like to wake up in your arms.”

Cullen’s words are muffled against the soft skin of her collarbone, breath warm and damp. She hums, fingers carding through his hair, listening to him talk. He is a heavy weight on her stomach and chest, but comforting, like a cherished blanket almost. One leg is loosely hooked over his waist, other stretched out languidly. He holds her in his arms as if their combined weight isn’t putting them to sleep, which she appreciates as she doesn’t seem to be losing any weight with her radical diet change.

She blames her Survived the Irish Famine Bloodline, thanks, Dad.

“You’re not the only one,” she admits. “The minute Hawke shows up they will be taking me straight to the Black Emporium.”

Cullen huffs. “I doubt you will find a solution there.”

“This is Xenon’s fault, I _know_ it is!” To send home her point, she gently tugs his hair. She feels Cullen shiver, the stutter of his breath. She smiles widely. “He will answer for this, _and_ fix it.”

“And then, love?”

He drags his mouth along her collarbone, down to her breasts. She shifts the leg on his waist to the bed, knee bent up and to the side, opening her core. His stubble rubs against the softness of her boobs and she exhales shakily, the friction teasing the warmth in her belly. “After hugging the shit out of you, no one will be seeing us for a few days.”

Cullen chuckles. He sucks a nipple between his lips, laving at the bud slowly. She hums, fingers flexing in his hair. He lets go of her nipple to kiss down her stomach. He drags his hands down her sides, running along the curve of her waist, down the outer smoothness of her thighs. His hands move to her inner thighs, rubbing gently, teasing.

Hattie closes her eyes. “You are terrible at keeping a conversation going.”

“You started it,” he purrs, running his nose over the curve of her stomach to her navel. He kisses right above it, watching her with lust-bright eyes. “Hair tugging?”

“I was making a point.”

“You always are.”

She huffs, tugging his hair so he crawls back up her person, letting go once his mouth is close enough to kiss. He comes willingly, curling an arm under her back. He flops onto his back beside her, pulling her against his chest. Her hands run along his shoulders, down his biceps to his hands. Hattie brings one to her mouth, kissing his palm, the callouses along the pads on his fingers.

“Your hair is so black it's almost blue,” he says, free hand reaching out to tug on a loose strand, twirling the hair around his fingers. The longer she lived in Thedas, the more she missed shampoo. Her hair was taking the transition well, thankfully, but the first few weeks had been rough until she’d gotten a handle on how to brush her hair with a wide, dense, boar-bristle brush to really distribute the natural oils. It didn’t help that, while she had inherited her mother’s ink black hair, she had her father’s poor hair type that had made her go through conditioner like crazy.

He kisses the hair tangled in his fingers, and a little of her hate at the brittle hair falls away. Then he kisses her, slow and sweet, sucking at her top lip. She moans a little, opening her lips to allow him to lick his way into her mouth. 

“You’ve never mentioned my hair before,” she rasps between breaths. “What brought that on?”

“It’s gotten longer.” He mouths along her neck, enjoying the way her voice shifts from its typical pitch down into low and breathy. “Softer. You’re soft. All of you.”

“O-oh.”

He sucks on her neck, tasting the salty sweat on her skin, nipping the oversensitive flesh. He breathes her in, smelling the lingering scent of honey and apples, heady and intoxicating still. He abandons her neck to pull her into another kiss, hot and demanding, taking everything she offers. Tasting, devouring, savoring all of her.

“I love you.” He releases her hair to feel down her sides, to press her hips to his, to paw at her ass. She arches into his touch, gasping. “I want you.”

“You have me, puppy.”

“All of you.” He rolls his hips against hers, grinding into her sweet little nub. “To wake up to you in the morning, to sleep with you in my arms, share meals with you, get a dog,” he pulls her up, rolls his hips, nudging against her entrance, “to have a life with you.”

“Sounds like a proposal.”

She takes him in, sliding down until he’s fully within her. He is hot and hard and bracing, stealing her breath, filling her mind with him and only him. His hands on her hips tighten enough to hurt, going to leave bruises behind she can trace come morning, waiting for when she can feel his lips trace the marks.

“No,” he assures, “not yet.”

Her heart flips, pulse jumping. She’d never given any thought to her own marriage, didn’t see herself as the type to be a bride or very good wife. She was too “annoyingly” independent, tended to rub wrong with her partners sooner than later, preferred setting the boundaries, but with Cullen…

She takes his face in her hands, stroking his cheeks with her thumbs. “Make love to me.”

His smile lights up his whole face, crinkling the edges of his golden eyes. He flips them, slipping deeper into her with the change in angle, pulling a high moan from her. He wraps her legs around his hips then brackets her in by his forearms, setting a slow, sturdy pace, strokes long, rolling, dragging her pleasure out.

She cards her fingers through his hair, smooths her hands down his back. She’s hot, she’s burning up from the inside out, filled with Cullen, wreathed in him. She cries out as he strikes her sweet spot, dragging against it sharply. Her thighs tighten around him, walls fluttering around his cock. He drags against it again, over and over.

Cullen buries his face in her neck, groaning. “Fuck, Hattie—”

She can only manage a squeak, breathless from the assault.

His thrusts begin to stutter, too fast, too sloppy. Hattie meets his thrusts the best she can, chasing the cresting edge.

“C’mon, vixen,” he breathes in her ear, growly and deep. “Come for me, baby.”

She cums with a sharp inhale, releasing a silent cry. Her walls contract around him, dragging against Cullen’s cock, pulling him in. He tenses up above her, buried deep within her.

She feels the thick vein on the underside of his shaft pulsing, warmth flooding her, and for a brief moment Hattie thinks, _Wait, shit, he needs to pull out—_

Then Cullen bites her shoulder again, hard and bruising, and her mind whites out. She wakes up, shoulder aching, underwear ruined (goddammit she’d have to get more new ones) by the mix of her essence and Cullen’s cum.


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey so.... kinda back? Not really? 2020 has sucked. That’s all

“Motherfucker,” she gasps, and is briefly worried Cassandra heard her. That the entire camp had.

But Cassandra is snoring hard beside her, as she always is. She can hear someone shuffling around camp outside, though. And she prays to the gods it's Solas, much as she’s about to hate the following conversation.

She had weeks to tell Cullen to pull out and she hasn’t, so she now has to ask Solas for, well, for whatever the mage equivalent of the Plan B is. Fuck, fuck, fuck. She was _never_ this irresponsible. Goddammit, Hattie.

She shakily gets up, dressing. She’d have to find a stream somewhere to wash off before changing her underwear.

She gets out of the tent to greet the dark of pre-dawn, still shaking with aftershocks, still flushed and a little sweaty. She brushes her hair out of her face, looking across the burned-low fire to find Solas.

He arches an eyebrow at her, a spark of humor there. She drops onto the log beside him, inhaling sharply. “So… something has been going on.”

“I’m assuming this is about why you smell of sex and the Commander?” He asks quietly, a tad conversationally even, poking the fire, stoking it back up so breakfast could be started soon. A pot hangs over the fire, steam already rising from the water within. “Was hard to not notice. It’s a semi-frequent occurrence.”

Hattie covers her eyes, face burning. “So, uhm, thing is… I’ve been dreaming of a Cullen for over a year?”

“And the dreams are bleeding into reality?” He raises his left hand, revealing a wax packet. “I assumed as much the second time you woke up and went to Adan’s.”

“Christ,” she stares at him, “you’ve known that long?”

“I have my own experience with what you’re experiencing, so had guesses from the beginning,” he says, holding the packet out to her even as the world tilts on axis. “For about the same time as you.”

“What the fuck?” He wrinkles his nose at the vulgarity and she doesn’t give a shit. She already has an idea but still asks. “Who have you been dreaming of? Why are you even telling me?”

“I am unsure of the who, she called herself Leah but I could never see her face, and I am telling you because the magic is the same. Very old and very tangled. A spell even I in my youth wouldn’t have tried to attempt.” Solas shakes the packet even as Hattie’s stomach continues to drop further and further out of her. “You came to ask me for a deterrent for children, take it. I’ll work up a magic cure when we return to Haven. I created two others like this, just in case.”

“Fucking hell on wheels,” she hisses, taking the packet and then covering her face again. Did that mean Andi’s dreams of Varric were real too? Fucking hell. “Leah is a close friend of mine. Fucking christ, Xenon.”

“You believe the Antiquarian to be behind this?”

“Oh I know he is.” She sighs tiredly, sitting up. “This is the kind of shit the motherfucker would pull. Me and my friends had this running gag back home about Xenon being a quasi-god because of all the shit and knowledge he’s amassed. One of his favorite things is to fuck up our lives, because he’s _bored_.”

“And in this case, you happen to be correct.” Solas laces his fingers, pressing them to his mouth. “You haven’t spoken to the Commander in person about your dreams, why?”

“He isn’t the Cullen I dream with.”

“And you are sure?”

There’s something in Solas’s tone that gives her pause. She gives him a hard look. “He didn’t recognize me when we met. Like, at all.”

Solas pulls the pot off the fire and carefully pours some of the steaming water into a cup. Instead of following their conversation, he says, “I’m sure you know how to use it by now?”

Too embarrassed to speak, she nods. She takes the cup by the handle, pouring the powder into it. She carefully swirls the cup around.

“There is a stream a quarter mile west of here,” Solas says. “It’s deep enough to meet your needs.”

“I’m guessing you know this personally?”

He gives her a flat look. “No. As you have pointed out on several occasions, I am good at denying myself. And Leah has enjoyed merely cuddling as of late.”

She mumbles huffily, “Maybe cos she realized it was _you_.”

“Excuse me?”

Hattie gives him a bright smile. “Thanks.”

He narrows his eyes at her. Then his expression clears. He nods to the cup. “Drink it. Becoming pregnant isn’t ideal at this time.”

“I don’t ever want to be.” Hattie puts the cup to her lips, drinking slowly. “Kids ain’t my thing.”

“Hm.” He returns the pot to the fire, waving a hand over the pot which steadily fills back up. “Your bad decision making says otherwise.”

She makes a face. “Don’t be rude.”

“Simply returning the favor, da’len.”

“Ha, hahren.”

She soon downs the entirety of the drink and stands. “Thank you for looking out for me, Solas.”

He cants his head to her. “Someone must, da’len. You can be bad at taking care of yourself.”

Against what she knows she should be feeling, she’s fond of Solas. Like someone fond of an idiot older brother doing his best in the worst way possible. And that feeling of fond just keeps growing. He’s just so dumb and bald.

“Just means I have to return the favor, then.”

He isn’t looking at her when she says it, but she can see the smile curling the corner of his mouth. She heads to her tent, gathering fresh under things, and heads in the direction of the stream he’d pointed out to her.


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y’all had to wait so dang long on me I figured I could post one more of my backlog chapters for you guys.

The rift is wild and bright. It’s biting, snarling, unwilling to close like the rest. There are more demons here than with the others, as if to protect something on the other side. This just makes her more determined to close it.

“Stay back,” Cassandra orders Hattie, even as the Herald reaches for her sword, ready to cut down some demons. “You are not fully rested from yesterday.”

“I’m fine,” Hattie says, flames spreading along the discolored blade. She’d need to look into finding a way to keep the metal from distempering further, otherwise it would break sooner than later. “I rested enough yesterday.” _And the sex was really invigorating._

“Hattie—”

Cassandra attempts to stop her but, with a shout, Hattie goes at the nearest demon, sword in front at a slight angle up as Cassandra had taught her, ducking to the right and striking toward the demon’s unprotected side when it attempts to swing from her left. She hits its stomach, going clean through. She smells tar and burning flesh, can almost taste it the smell permeates so strongly. The demon’s shriek is sharp as its claw, acutely in her ear, leaving behind a ringing she knew all too well.

She kicks it back, off her sword, and as Solas taught, forms a ball of ice and throws it in the demon’s face. It gives her time to get out of range and swing at the neck. It throws itself at her, forcing her back, but Cassandra is there, ramming the demon away. Cassandra cuts it down in three swift moves as Hattie takes on another, taking it down just as quickly.

They make short work of the demons and Hattie turns to the rift, throwing out her hand. It fights her, it fights the Anchor, snarling and growling as she forces it to close. Then it bites, sharp and burning, throwing Hattie back with a yelp.

“Fuck!”

Varric is there to catch her. More demons appear, one for each of her team. Not as many as before but no less annoying.

“Ugh!” She bites, rolling her shoulder. It stings, not only her hand thrown back but her shoulder too. “What the fuck?”

“It’s like that one from the mountain pass.” Varric says, keeping a careful hand on Hattie’s shoulder as she steadies herself. “Doesn’t want to close, huh?”

“No.” And she feels fire licking her palms, threatening to destroy her blade further. Varric takes a careful step back as she straightens. “But it will anyway.”

“Don’t push yourself, Sage.”

“I’m not.” Hattie huffs, twirling her blade briefly, then going at the closest demon. It meets her eagerly, shrieking. Her fire burns its clawed hands, makes it draw back and try to reach her at a different angle. It snags on her cloak, but the leather is too tough to tear through, leaving only scratches behind. She uses the closeness to take it’s head clean off.

She turns to the rift again as she sees Varric take his demon out with a bolt to the forehead, sees Solas still locked in battle with his but knowing it would be over shortly. Cassandra is out of her line of sight, but it doesn’t matter. She knows the Seeker is done by the rush of breath somewhere behind her.

She holds out her hand, other gripping the hilt of her sword hard enough her fingers go numb. She can feel the Fade within her, feel Solas’s magic working to do its job, to pull the Fade closed, stitching back up crudely, even as the rift screams and fights. She grits her teeth, takes an unsteady step closer, and shouts angrily,

“Close, motherfucker!”

That seems to do the job. The rift closes with a scream, and she digs her blade into the ground, leaning heavy on the hilt as her energy rushes out of her. Hattie’s knees shake but she cannot look away from the rift.

Cassandra draws her sword again, saying, “What is it?”

There is a crumpled form on the ground, turned away from them. She can see long burnished ash blonde hair, tangled and unbrushed. Two smaller forms are right above it. One is orange and striped and the other is black.

She recognizes them, though they are much bigger than normal cats. Her heart leaps up into her throat, and then it sinks.

A groan comes from the larger form, shifting under the long pale cloak they are in.

“I know her,” Hattie says, releasing her sword to stumble for them— _her_.

“Hattie—!” Cassandra says, but Hattie is already rounding her friend, dropping to her knees to draw her friend into shaking arms, pushing tangled hair back out of a sweaty, pale face. She’d been sick the last time they had spoken four weeks ago. Jesus christ.

Fuck, was she going to find Leah like this too?

“Andrea?” Hattie taps her friend’s cheek. “Andi?”

She heard Varric’s crossbow hit the ground, doesn’t really register it as she focuses on her friend. “Andi? You alive?”

Andi groans, exhales shakily, _sickly_ , and Hattie drops her head.

“I’m gonna fucking murder Xenon myself, goddammit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Say hello to Andi!  
> Might start adding some flashback chapters to explain things better, what say you guys?


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my new rule if for every other chapter I finish, I post one here. While that doesn’t give a set schedule, it DOES keep me ahead of the ball game.

Hattie wipes at Andi’s forehead with the rag, own furrowed, lips pressed flat. She refused to let the others in the tent, or let them near herself until she’d washed herself with lye and hot water. She had stripped to her underclothes, knowing she’d be burning them with what Andi was wearing and the tent.

She couldn’t risk them catching whatever Andi has. Andi, Naomi, and her could fight off a cold, it was always a common strain. But someone from Thedas, who’d never been introduced to the Flu or measles or Chicken Pox? It was a death sentence. And Hattie had no way of knowing how long Andi had been sick beyond when they’d last spoken.

“Fuck,” she whispers, hands starting to shake. She drops the rag into the bucket, closing her eyes. She bites her lip, willing her tears away. “Just what we need.”

She takes a small breath, steadying her hands. “I just have to stay calm.”

Hattie had rushed them to make camp at the nearest form of water when she’d realized Andi had a high fever. She’d immediately set up Cassandra’s and hers tent, quarantining it.

“You can’t come in here,” she’d said. “She’s sick with an Earth illness. We’ll have to burn the tent after.”

Cassandra had gapped. “Where shall you and I sleep?”

“By the fire, when I’m not making sure she isn’t going to die.” Hattie had been glad to find Fili and Kili, the ginger and black cat respectively, were alive, though the trip through the Fade had made them double their regular Maine Coon size. Varric and Solas had carried them for her, Solas using an ‘ancient Elvhen spell' to levitate Andi to their newest campsite. “I’ve been here for over a month. If she’s still sick, that means this isn’t just a cold.”

Hattie takes the rag up, wrings out the excess water, and wipes at Andi’s forehead. Andi moans, murmuring in her sleep, “Varric?”

“Shh,” Hattie soothes. She’d need to braid Andi’s hair back. It was long, unmanageable. It would make more sense to get it out the way. “Just rest. I’m taking care of you.”

“Hn.” Andi’s brow furrows. Her eyes blink open, revealing fever-bright green eyes. “Hats? What the fuck…?”

“You’re sick,” Hattie explains, voice quiet, hiding her worry. “And in Thedas.”

Andi tries to sit up, pushed back down by Hattie. She’d gotten stronger from her training, not to mention Andi was ill. “Shit. Do I have the Blight?”

“No.” Hattie brushes her friend’s hair back. “No. You’re fine. You just have a cold or flu.”

“Oh god.” Andi scowls tiredly. “Don’t let me die. I don’t wanna be a zombie.”

Hattie snorts. “That’s your biggest concern?”

“Uung, don’t let anyone see me like this either.” Andi whines. “Especially Varric.”

Hattie laughs, tired but glad. “Don’t worry. We’re currently quarantined so we don’t cause a massive outbreak.”

“That can happen?”

“Have you not played Plague Inc.?”

“Too morbid.”

“Yeah well, we’ll also be burning our clothes. And the tent.” Hattie says. “I sent Varric and Cass to buy you some clothes because their pacing was making me panic.”

“But I like these sweats.”

“And I like this bra.”

Andi squints at Hattie. “You’re, like, _naked_.”

“Well I couldn’t burn the armor I have.” Hattie wipes at more sweat on Andi’s face. Her breathing wasn’t labored, which was good, and she was mostly lucid when awake. “And trust me, Cass and Solas are plenty scandalized for me.”

“Oh fuck.” Andi curls onto her side with another pitiful groan. “Nooo, Hattie. Don’t tell me you’re the Inquisitor.”

“Herald, currently.” Hattie waves her hand with the Mark. “Sorry, babe.”

“Ugh, don’t romance that bald shithead.”

Hattie chokes on her “you need to lay on your back” at Andi’s words. She then laughs, loud and a little wild. “Oh, _fuck_ , that’s hilarious. No, thank you.” Her cheeks pink. “Besides I’m still dreaming with Cullen. And _this_ Solas dreams with Lottie.”

“Uuuuuuugh, no. This is getting too complicated.” Andi reaches out to cover Hattie’s mouth. “Lemme sleep peacefully.”

“Sure. Once you lay on your back again.”

“But the ground is hard.”

“That’s my bedroll, you butthead!”

“Your bedroll _sucks_.”

“Sick you is mean. I don’t like sick you.”

“Neither do I.”

They squabble a little more before Solas calls, “Herald, please do not argue with the sick.”

And both snap, “Shut up, hahren/egghead!”

There is silence, then a defeated sigh, and the two start laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wouldn’t NORMALLY do this, but if you guys want another fic like this by me to read while waiting, there’s my fic where i post snippets of random AUs called “The Power of Three and Other Crazy AUs”, and my other fic “Seconds, Minutes, Hours, Lifetimes”.
> 
> Also Leah was changed to Lieselotte, Lottie for short.


	39. Thirty-Nine

Andi is getting better, thank Brigid and Airmed.

Her fever is down after Solas gathers some herbs from the surrounding area and boils them down into a tea, helped along by Hattie making Andi suffer through regular sponge baths despite her whining and bitching. By the time Cassandra and Varric had returned with some clothes to get Andi by once she’s better, and Varric even shelled out to buy them a tent, Hattie felt things were looking up. Fili and Kili had eventually awoken and been very interested in cuddling Andi or disappearing into the woods to shortly return with a small dead animal to give Andi. It was cute but Andi needed rest, not nugs.

She makes sure Andi is comfortable and on her way to sleep, pulls her blanket around her, and joins her Companions around the fire. She rubs at her eyes as she sits, shins freezing cold in the late evening air.

Varric glances at Hattie, stirring something thick and white and smelling of warmth, of hearth and home. There looks to be chunks of meat and vegetables in it too. They must have gathered supplies while buying Andi some clothes. “How is she?”

“Asleep. Her fever has gone down.” Hattie looks at him. “She’ll be up and bitching in a few hours. She’s fun when sick.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” he chuckles. His mirth smooths out. “You feeling okay? You were pretty worried we’d get sick.”

“Nothing I can’t handle.” Hattie sighs, pulling her blanket tighter around her. Damn she wanted to get dressed again, but the idea of having to burn her clothes was unpleasant. Xenon had kindly given her some good armor. Andi was the one still in sweats and a ratty, way too big t-shirt. “I have a hearty immune system.”

“I would still feel much more comfortable if you took the same tea as I made our new friend,” Solas says, holding out her cup. She, reluctantly, takes it. “I recommend we all drink it, as it is not only helpful for the sick but also for keeping one from getting sick.”

“Aw, shit, Solas. But Andi said it tasted like cat pee.”

“The most helpful remedies tend to taste… peculiar.” And to prove his point he drinks from his own cup. They all see him flinch at the tea but drink it anyway. He clears his throat after, but there is still a slight waver. “I would rather my health than my tastebuds.”

“Who are you and what have you done with Solas?” Hattie asks, surprised. “You despise tea.”

“Not as much as I despise being sick.” He clears his throat again, not hiding his grimace. “Is the soup yet ready, Master Tethras?”

Hattie doesn’t take a sip of her tea, instead setting it aside. She trusted her immune system to not fail her.

“Probably,” Varric says. “Been awhile since I made soup over a fire, but it’s apparently best for when someone’s sick so I didn’t have much choice.”

“Usually once it starts to bubble, it’s ready.”

Varric raises an eyebrow at her. Hattie ducks her head. “I am 99 percent sure you know that already.”

“Sure, but you keep surprising us, Sage.” Varric shrugs.

“I would like to see this Earth one day,” Cassandra says, wonderingly. “It seems there is nothing a person cannot do.”

“Well… it’s not exactly like that,” Hattie says. “I was actually lower middle class. I barely scraped by most days. I didn’t even have a full college education, which on Earth meant I was... less. I couldn’t get a job that paid anything helpful, wasn’t even considered a lot of the time despite my work ethic and my job as a supervisor. And I know people who are still illiterate despite school being mandatory because they’re so poor they slip through the system.”

She thinks of her brother and a tight lump of rage still coils up inside her when she remembers what happened. She breathes slowly, lets out the rage because that was in the past and a whole world away. “But… close, Cass. If you scrape by enough, you can do anything. We’ve even gone to the moon, touched the stars.”

“You’ve gone to the moon?” Solas leans forward, interest piqued. “How?”

“Uh,” Hattie laughs nervously, “I don’t know the whole mechanics, I only read about it once and was too chubby to meet requirements as an astronaut, but essentially…”

She spends the next hour talking about space and how to reach it as they eat, what suns are made of and how big just her home galaxy is, about the Space Race, and then backtracking to the Cold War and describing its lasting effects on America. Finding a fallout shelter in the middle of her hometown in Florida is _still_ her funniest childhood memory. Her Companions are suitably horrified, but growing up post-Cold War and during the War in Iraq and Afghanistan and post 9/11 you get used to it.

“We found a planet that rains diamonds,” she says to helpfully distract them. “And Uranus spins on its side so it has hella long seasons and Saturn is surrounded by _at least_ thirty rings of ice, each about, hm, I think it was 175 thousand miles across? And 3,200 feet thick. All full of ice and rock. It’s badass.”

“And people have visited these planets?”

Hattie stares at Solas for a second, realizes she’s been talking as if humans _have_ been to all these places, have set foot on Saturn’s Phoebe and many of Jupiter’s moons. Her smile falls. “No. We use giant telescopes and technology to see them. And send roving computers to take data samples to send back. Just to reach Mars it’s seven months, and if you successfully pass the Asteroid Belt it takes six years to reach Jupiter. We don’t have the supplies to last that long in space, nor suits built to last in the unique atmosphere of each. Not if you want a return trip. Which you’d need because Earth is the only habitable planet, and all the planets past the asteroid belt are made solely of gas.”

There is a moment of silence.

“Earth is quite advanced, for being so far from magic.” Solas says, and is admittedly a little awed.

“Trust me when I say it was one hell of a ride to get here. It was only in the last hundred years we had these kinds of advancements. Organized religion denounced a lot of science _as_ magic, and would have people killed for witchcraft. Which was only like three hundred years before that at least.” She shrugs. “I once heard someone say that magic is science we don’t understand yet, and I stand by that. It’s why I like reading the magic theory books you recommend Solas.”

“Though it seems to hinder your own use.”

“Yeaaaah,” she waves her hand, “I get wrapped up in the whole ‘am I focusing this just right? and it fucks me up. So I stop focusing on if I’m doing it as the book says, and go by feeling.”

“I would like to hear more,” Cassandra says. “About Earth. You speak of it fondly. I am sure Naomi and Andi would have similar stories.”

“Possibly. We all grew up in wildly different places, and are enough years apart to have different experiences worth sharing.” Hattie shrugs. “Naomi is from California, Andi from the midwest. I can’t remember what state for whatever reason, and I _know_ she’s told me.”

“Michigan.”

Hattie stares at Varric, who now looks a bit sheepish and put on the spot in a way he wasn’t chill with. So do Cassandra and Solas. Solas’s eyes narrow, and Hattie can practically _hear_ him thinking. Her own mind is backtracking, trying to think of when— _if_ she mentioned where Andi is from before forgetting. But she can’t. Which means—

Hattie remembers the way Varric dropped Bianca, his prized and dearly loved crossbow. The way he’d jumped at the chance to try and help Hattie carry Andi, something she’d assumed was because he’s just, you know, a good person. How he _knew Andi’s measurements_ for new clothes and kindly bought Cassandra and Hattie a new tent big enough for the three women once Andi was better. How he knew her favorite Get Well Soon Soup, something Hattie had off-handedly been told _once_.

It all falls into place and she… she has to very, very slowly set down her empty bowl and stand. Calm as possible. “Yeah, she’s from Michigan. Which reminds me, I need to make sure she’s not dead. I’ll be right back to get some food for her.”

She disappears inside the tent and then, like, punches the ground. Very quietly. She can hear Cassandra asking Varric questions he’s attempting to dodge and probably not doing a good job at because Varric is a fantastic liar up until he’s in love with someone.

“Mother _fucker_.”

Andi groans in her sleep, blinks blearily half-awake and says, sounding very drunk. “Varric? C’mere I’m cold.”

_Fucking fuckerton fucks a lot._

**Author's Note:**

> Synopsis I came up with for the Chaos Group Chat: In the Xenon Multiverse (where Xenon is a pretty damn powerful quasi-god quasi-immortal and gets his kick out of harassing three-sometimes-four normal Earth women with different adventures _they never signed up for_ ), Xenon decides to see what having his four favorite humans deal with magical sex dreams would be like. Then toss them into Thedas.
> 
> Because he's an asshole.


End file.
